One Spice Short
by 2shot
Summary: Santana is an up-and-coming chef and Brittany a food critic who likes her anonymity. When Brittany decides to mess with her ex-girlfriend, it doesn't take much for them to stumble back into the spiteful and rousing nature of their relationship.
1. Chapter 1

Susan Spite was what you would call a connoisseur. Some, however, were more partial to calling her an acquired taste. Her restaurant reviews were bold but oftentimes peppered with the oddest words, and it was only after reading five or six of her articles that readers would recognize her incredible talent for critique. She was an adventurer and food was her terrain, but her reviews were quite peculiar at times, which only added to the mystery of her persona. She'd once written a long article about the benefits of eating seafood, only to conclude that the idea of octopus still made her dizzy, and that she'd much rather listen to the Beatles' _Octopus's Garden_ than eat those unfortunate-looking sea creatures.

Every reader of _Cuisine _knew of her formidable reputation, and every restaurateur feared her palate. One year ago, her negative review of Bowtie had turned celebrity chef Blaine Anderson into a joke. She'd slammed the wine, mocked the risotto and zucchini lasagna, and advised against ordering the tiramisu or caramel flan. In the business of restoration, her words were more cutting than the French guillotine.

At 26 she was Cuisine's most valuable journalist and her anonymity was their highest priority. Susan worked hard to be incognito as she couldn't imagine being able to do her job if people knew who she was the minute she stepped into a restaurant.

Of course she did sometimes wish people could see right through her. Susan was a lovely persona, but she was still Brittany Pierce through and through, and she very much enjoyed herself as such.

Sitting at her desk and reading over the last review she'd written, Brittany wondered if she'd been too nice with Rhodes, the small restaurant she'd last been at. Their wine was probably the best Brittany had had in a couple of weeks, but their food was nothing special and the service was clumsy. Still she'd loved the cozy ambiance and she'd definitely had bang for her buck. It wasn't a pretentious place, and if not for the food, Rhodes definitely deserved attention for its wine cellar.

After staring at her screen for a couple more minutes, she smiled tranquilly and sent the mail of her revised review to her boss, Shelby, and leaned back into her chair. From the corner of her eye she noticed Lord Tubbington, her cat, purring contently on his stomach, spread on the couch like butter on bread. It was a lazy day, as most Thursdays were, but Brittany found herself pouting at the idea of spending it alone in her house. The daily Boston noises were calling to her, and even if she wasn't feeling famished, she could do with grabbing lunch and maybe walking around for an hour or two.

She turned her computer off and slid her glasses off her nose, setting them on a pile of newspapers. She'd circled a couple of new places to try, and Shelby had asked her to check out her daughter's bistro as a favor. Brittany had been confused at first – she'd thought Shelby's daughter was about nine and named Beth, not Rachel – but she hadn't really given it too much thought. She liked doing favors and she liked food even more, so really it was a win-win.

After thirty minutes or so she was lazily walking around, in the lookout for someplace to eat but not in a rush either. She loved passing by the occasional brownstone residences and the evergreens, especially with the sun warming her back. She was on Tremont Street when she did a double take and her neck cracked just a bit, making her wince for a split second. She hadn't walked in this area for months, which meant she wouldn't usually be so surprised to see a brand new restaurant, but she still let out the most flabbergasted breath.

How had she not known Santana had finally built her dream? She hadn't seen her in three years, sure, but this was… Well, Brittany composed herself, it was pretty damn amazing. She smiled amusedly at the name, too. Santana was never one to change her mind, stubborn as she was, so it was no surprise she'd named her restaurant Adjacent.

Brittany felt kind of disappointed with herself. Remembering Santana's hopes and dreams and seeing them concretized right before her eyes was bittersweet. It reminded her that time flew faster than she liked to think, and that she'd broken an old promise.

"_I'll be your first client_," she remembered saying, listening intently to her girlfriend babbling excitedly about her future plans. Santana had grinned bashfully, and Brittany smiled at the memory. She realized then how weird it was to remember their relationship so fondly, especially if she thought back on their countless fights and broken dishes. Santana would always rile her up – in all possible ways – but Brittany knew she'd had the same effect on her. Unfortunately, there were only so many times you could have sex to cover up fights.

Many things had changed since then. Brittany wasn't the coffee girl for the Culinary Magazine anymore, and she'd climbed the ladder of her profession faster than most. Santana, it seemed, had gone from kitchen hand to chef. Knowing how long she'd hoped for this, Brittany felt completely ecstatic for her.

She quickly crossed the street and pushed the door of the place open, feeling impulsive and entirely bemused. She knew it wasn't likely for the chef to come out of the kitchen, especially since the place was buzzing, but once she remembered Santana's ego, she formulated a plan that made her smile wickedly. She was in a playful mood, and it only served Santana right for not telling her about the restaurant in the first place.

* * *

Santana Lopez was no stranger to food. She lived for its savors and colors, and every ingredient had the possibility of being a secret weapon. Her mother's old cookbook had been her bible during childhood. She remembered staying in the kitchen for hours during the weekends, experimenting with food and smelling all the spices and herbs she could get her small hands on. Of course her mother was always around to make sure she didn't wreck the whole kitchen, but apart from cookie batches, Santana had never really burnt anything to the crisp.

Years later, when her parents asked her what her plans for the future were, they weren't surprised to hear she wanted to adorn the white hat and open her own restaurant. Of course she still went to college, but after getting her diploma in culinary arts, she realized getting hired was much more difficult than she'd anticipated. Not to mention she didn't respond very well to orders, so being a kitchen hand had been the worst pain in the ass.

After a couple of years of hopping from restaurant to restaurant – her temper had a knack for getting her fired – she'd finally decided to say fuck it and build her own place with the money she'd saved and some help from her parents. After months of dealing with suppliers, obtaining the permits and licenses, equipping the restaurant, finding her staff, writing the menu, and even taking a couple of classes in business and management, Adjacent had become her pride and joy. She'd popped more aspirins than she could count and gone all Boston Heights on more than one license board member, but the result had been worth it.

It'd been four months since they had their first clients and the restaurant was positively thriving. Some of their customers came in more than twice a week, for lunch or dinner, and their variation of Latin-American dishes were a change from the typically American, Italian or French restaurants in the area. It was hard work and a demanding business, but the exhilaration she felt at the end of the day was well worth-it.

From her station, Santana smiled at her success.

"We've got two stews and one mofongo," Sunshine yelled, making Santana's heart leap into her throat and her fingers tense around a wooden spoon. The young waitress had a bad habit of being abrasive and completely careless, but at least she never got any orders mixed up.

Holly tapped Santana's back and chuckled. "Aren't you happy I recommended her to ya'?"

Santana mustered a fake smile and nodded. Holly was truly an amazing sous-chef and friend, and Santana knew she'd hit the jackpot when _Terri's_ had gone bankrupt and been forced to close. She'd snatched Holly just when the woman thought she was out of a job, and offered her a much better deal. Of course Santana was still the chef, but Holly had admitted she liked the responsibilities of the sous-chef much better anyway. If Santana was being honest, she looked up to Holly more than she would like to admit. The woman was smooth and always oozed peacefulness, whereas Santana was often stressed and had to snap a rubber band around her wrist when she got overly anxious.

However, Holly also had odd recommendations – like Sunshine – that Santana didn't really have the heart to say no to. She had needed a new server after she had to fire that mohawk douche who kept checking out her tits and drooling on his menus, so Holly had immediately suggested her very short, very peculiar friend. In all honesty, Santana had blurted out she looked too much like a midget and that it could weird out the clientele, but when Holly chided her with a hit to the back of her head, she conceded.

After several minutes of arranging a grilled veggie salad, Santana turned to see Kurt, her headwaiter, walk through the kitchen door with an embarrassed look. She wiped her hands and arched an eyebrow. "What's wrong?"

"Um… it seems we've got our first culinary complaint."

"What?"

"Is it for my coco flan?" Mercedes asked from her station. She was the best pastry chef in the city, but just like Santana, she had quite the mama bear attitude when it came to her food.

Kurt shook his head. "No it's um… for the chilaquiles."

"What? No! Fuck!"

Kurt fidgeted on his feet and swallowed. "You should probably go see her, be apologetic and everything."

"Ugh," Santana groaned, "I guess that's our policy."

"Don't forget to smile," Holly sing-songed.

Santana rolled her eyes as she took her hat off and passed it to Holly. She huffed at their amused looks and walked out of the kitchen with Kurt right behind her.

"So who is it?" She asked, scanning the room with frantic eyes. She was curious to know who had complained about a dish she could prepare with her eyes closed.

"Blonde woman, right behind the coup—"

"No fucking way," Santana breathed out.

There sat Brittany Pierce, chin propped against her left hand as she fiddled with her cell phone with the right one, her plate of food mostly untouched. Santana was flabbergasted, then mostly pissed off, annoyed, and maybe a bit turned on.

Opening the restaurant had been so stressful; no relationship could have ever survived that period of Santana's life. She'd been constantly working or on the phone, sleep deprived and pumped with caffeine, so even the thought of innocently flirting had been thrown out the window. Now more than ever, she felt the rippling consequences of that yearlong lack of intimacy. Brittany was always gorgeous and time hadn't changed that at all. She looked more mature, even from afar, and her hair was longer, framing her face beautifully and falling past her breasts. Santana felt her stomach tighten as she remembered those breasts perfectly, preferably with her lips wrapped around a nipple.

Kurt cleared his throat behind her. "Try to be suave, I think she's team gay."

Santana rolled her eyes, because yeah, Brittany_ definitely_ loved pussy, but she wasn't about to tell Kurt how exactly she knew that.

"Please tell Holly to take over, this will probably take a while," she muttered.

After ten measures steps she pulled the chair in front of Brittany and sat down, narrowing her eyes when the woman looked at her with a smile.

"I had a feeling you'd come out of the kitchen."

Santana clicked her tongue, "What are you doing here, Brittany?"

Brittany blinked, "Having lunch?"

"Obviously. Why here though?"

"I was curious is all… I'm actually kind of hurt you didn't tell me you finally opened the restaurant of your dreams," Brittany said. Her tone was meant to be teasing, but Santana was feeling rather pissed.

"Well last time I saw you I got a slap in the face and a goodbye, so excuse me for not feeling like I owed you a memo."

Brittany sighed, "I came in because I knew I'd enjoy the food. Although I have to admit I was a bit disappointed with…" she pointed to her plate.

Santana glared at her. "I could make this in my sleep. What's wrong with it?"

Brittany chuckled, remembering Santana got defensive easily. "There's too much sauce, not enough cheese, and the tortillas taste weird."

Santana rolled her eyes but didn't bother defending her food. She knew Brittany had probably found this excuse to lure her out of the kitchen, and this was more about her taunting her than actually complaining.

After a few seconds, she muttered, "Who eats chilaquiles for lunch anyway?"

Brittany arched an eyebrow. "Well, it's on your menu… do you not know?"

Santana almost groaned. She knew Brittany was being purposefully dense – it was her thing; pretend she was unaware of the other person's frustration until they reached their boiling point trying to explain themselves. Santana used to hate it.

She remembered why now.

"Of course I know," she snapped. When a couple at their right turned to look at her, surprised at her outburst, she cleared her throat and lowered her voice. "I wrote the damn thing. It's not the final version is all; we're still testing out… stuff. Chilaquiles are brunch food."

Brittany shrugged, dipping a soft tortilla chip in cheesy goodness. "I'm pretty sure my neighbor would disagree with you."

Santana narrowed her eyes. "And why would I care what your nei—"

"She's Mexican," Brittany explained nonchalantly. She loved pushing Santana like this. Seeing her nostrils flare, her fingers gripping the tablecloth, wrinkling the edges – it was all so very hot. "It's like a heavy salad when you really think about it, you can eat it whenever. That's what she told me anyway."

"I know my fucki—" Santana paused, feeling the customers at her right look over again. She mustered a fake smile, trying to compose herself. "Look, I know my food," she said.

Brittany swallowed and drank two sips of water before looking at Santana with a glint in her eye. She was waiting for her to answer, or say anything really, and keeping her on her toes was just exquisite. Brittany loved having the upper hand, so after a few seconds of staring at Santana blankly, she shrugged, "Everyone knows a lot of things."

Santana frowned, obviously not prepared for those words. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"I'm just sayin'," Brittany chuckled.

"I know what I'm doing!" Santana insisted.

She didn't even know why she felt this childish need to justify herself. She knew she was good, her staff knew she was good, heck her mom had once asked her to cater for a whole dinner party and they'd all praised her name for a good month. Brittany had no power over her.

Had she?

"Look I never said it's bad," Brittany trailed off, "I'm just saying it's okay if you don't know _everything_ about it."

"I know _you_," Santana blurted.

Brittany's head recoiled in surprise. "What?"

Santana didn't know why she had said it, but she'd had enough of Brittany's teasing jabs. Two could play this game. "I know you," she repeated.

"What does that have to do with—"

"It means, _I know you,_ and I could use it to my advantage, so you really don't want to piss me off here Brittany."

Brittany huffed, "You know nothing about me. You barely knew me when we were dating."

Santana arched a disbelieving eyebrow and then narrowed her eyes. "I know that you wear glasses and not contacts because they make you feel like a sexy librarian. _Especially_ when you're in the mood for role-play."

Brittany's face turned crimson, with her eyes widened and her mouth popped open. "What are you—"

"Nu-uh. You hush Brittany, otherwise everyone here will know how much of that blonde angel act is so damn fake."

Brittany swallowed, eyes darting around as her cheeks burned red.

Santana smiled, lips curved into a delicious smirk. "This is fun actually, jogging my memory like this. 'Makes me remember how you liked it real slow," she taunted, "how you'd spread your legs nice and wide so I could eat you out."

Brittany's lips parted and her stomach clenched as she tried to focus on Santana's deep brown eyes. Looking at her luscious lips pronouncing those words turned out to be completely distracting. She couldn't even compose herself is she tried.

"Well, w-we haven't done that in three years," she swallowed, finding her throat scratchy all of a sudden.

"Mhm that's right," Santana smirked naughtily. "But I'm sure you'd still love it. I mean… think about it," she murmured hotly, "you, naked on a bed with my smoking-hot self licking up your abs."

"I suppose that would be nice," she stammered.

"Uh-huh," Santana husked. "Remember when I'd dip my tongue in your bellybutton? That would always drive you so crazy for me."

"Stop it," Brittany pleaded.

Santana arched an eyebrow, please to have turned the tables. "Oh I can go all day long. In fact, I haven't gotten to the best part yet."

Brittany blushed furiously. "Don't."

Santana looked at the ceiling, faking wonderment as she tapped her chin with her index. "What was that fetish again? Something… something about me licking up your ar—"

"Stop!"

"What? Ashamed?" Santana smugly asked.

"No. I'm not ashamed of hanky-panky stuff," Brittany muttered.

Santana almost chocked on air. "_Hanky-panky_? You really haven't changed, have you?"

Brittany narrowed her eyes angrily. The truth was she had changed more in the past three years than in the last decade. Of course, she wouldn't give Santana the satisfaction of knowing that.

"Well I still think you're completely infuriating and egotistical, so I guess I haven't, no."

Santana barked a laugh. "Careful Britt, one would think that anger hides something else."

"Oh you would like that, wouldn't you?"

Santana shrugged, "I'm awesome, I don't blame you for still wanting on my hot self."

Brittany's gritted her teeth. "You're despicable."

"Does that turn you on, baby?"

"No."

"It used to."

"Fuck off Santana, seriously," Brittany spat. She grabbed her purse and threw a twenty-dollar bill on the table, getting up quickly and walking angrily out of the restaurant.

Santana clicked her tongue as other customers looked at her less than discreetly, confused by the sudden commotion. Santana was very unaware though – she was only now realizing she'd _maybe_ gone too far. Brittany was just so… so _Brittany_, and she hated the load of emotions that came with her. They'd always had a destructive relationship, so it was no wonder they'd been at each other's throats so quickly. Still, it had been three years and Santana had certainly changed since their breakup, especially in the last year. Perhaps Brittany had wanted a decent conversation, but she'd gone and let her ego ruin it.

Well, whatever, Santana smirked, a part of her was still undeniably happy about this little reunion, and she might just have found the way out of her currently less than tepid sex life.


	2. Chapter 2

Brittany gnawed on her bottom lip as she stared at her computer screen, her eyes blanking on the one typed word. Adjacent.

When she had come back from Santana's restaurant two days ago, more pissed than she had been in over a year, she'd slammed the door of her house and thrown her purse on the couch, effectively scaring away Lord Tubbington. She'd sat herself in front of her computer and started typing the nastiest review. Santana Lopez would go down with this...

...a thought that had stopped her fingers and dissipated her anger.

She'd come to her senses soon enough and shut down her laptop before she could type anything more.

Now Brittany wondered what was keeping her from writing an article on Adjacent. She'd been a bit bored with her work lately, and this was certainly a challenge she was interested in. Still, she knew she'd have to leave her personal feelings out of this, and after letting her anger get the best of her on Thursday, she wasn't so sure she'd be able to. Santana was just damn irritating. She got under her skin in less than a few minutes, something that had surprised Brittany. When she'd stepped into the restaurant, she'd thought she would be in control of herself, but it seemed like things were still quite heated between them.

Sighing, Brittany grabbed her glasses and pushed them on her nose. She'd write Shelby a review proposal and see how things went from then on. Her boss was rather lax, but Brittany had other obligations with Cuisine that she'd been postponing for a couple of days now. This would only stall them further, though she knew they weren't urgent either.

Besides, she could still stop by Santana's restaurant and check out Rachel Berry's place the same week. The girl was aware she would come eventually – something Brittany would usually be iffy about – which worked out in her favor. If this Rachel person knew who she was, and that probability was high since Shelby was her mother after all, Brittany wouldn't bother following her usual method. Normally she'd go incognito three times and evaluate each meal she possibly could, but she figured one trip would be enough. The chef would probably be on top of her game as soon as she got news the food critic was here, so really it was no use trying to catch them being lazy.

Brittany would write that review this week but would wait around to assess Adjacent. She knew she was in dangerous territory, and Santana would most likely grow suspicious if she stopped by so soon, especially after their argument. Well, thinking back, it wasn't so surprising for her to walk straight back to the woman after a fight.

Brittany scowled at herself and brought her fingers back to the keyboard.

After a half-hour of typing, staring at the screen for five minutes straight, typing again and staring longer, she clicked through her mailbox to send it out to Shelby. It was a pretty perfect layout of the places she'd hit in the week, and she added in a paragraph on Adjacent as well. She'd just clicked on send when her doorbell rang, making Tubbington purr in the corner of the couch. Her cat was getting lazier by the day, but Brittany didn't have the heart to force him on that pet treadmill ever again. The last time had been such a fiasco that she shuddered at the thought.

She took her glasses off and cursed when she noticed it was already 1pm, and her friend Quinn was supposed to stop by for lunch. Brittany knew she was supposed to go grocery shopping this morning, but if she was lucky she had just enough to whip up a tuna macaroni casserole.

With that thought in mind, she quickly cleaned the mess on the kitchen table and hurried to open the door when it rang a second time.

"Yeah yeah I'm com–"

"Hey you."

"–ing."

Santana stood in front of her, wearing a dark blue trench coat and pouting her full lips in the most sinful way. The makeup around her eyes was dark and smoky, and her thick black locks fell down her shoulders and collarbone. She was one stunning femme fatale, and Brittany felt her core throb.

"Hi," she croaked.

Santana arched an eyebrow and smiled devilishly. "Are you seeing anyone?"

Brittany frowned, surprised at the sudden question. "No—"

Santana cupped the back of her head and brought their lips together before she could finish her sentence, pushing Brittany inside and shutting the door behind her. She smiled against Brittany's mouth, swallowing her moan when their tongues met, the first time in three years. It felt good – too good – and Brittany groaned when Santana hastily undid the belt of her coat and shrugged it off, revealing her half-naked body. The lace of her bra was holding her full breasts wonderfully, and as soon as Brittany was pushed on the couch and straddled, she wasted no time in cupping the flesh and brushing her thumbs over hard nipples.

"God," Santana moaned, "I missed that."

Brittany groaned at the dizzying scent Santana exuded, the warmth of her skin and the scratch of her fingers on her neck. With an angry glare, she recaptured the red lips, pushing her tongue against Santana's as she trailed her hands up and down smooth thighs. It was always the same, always a fight to get on top. Things never changed with Santana, and the way she gripped her hair possessively, the way she moved – confident, desperate – was only a solid reminder of that. It was all too familiar.

"You couldn't just let it go, could you," Brittany snarled, and Santana smirked against her lips, shaking her head.

"How could I," she husked, eyes flickering to Brittany's swollen lips. "You looked so hot. All red and flustered."

She let out a short, surprised gasp when Brittany's fingers trailed up her inner thigh to her covered sex, the cold of her fingers against her throbbing core a stark contrast.

"Come on baby, don't make me wait."

Brittany pressed two fingers against her entrance, smirking for the first time when the woman groaned and buried her face in the crook of her neck. Her breath was closer to her ear now, coming in short pants as Brittany slid her fingers up and down her covered slit.

"Oh g-god," Santana moaned, "it's been so long."

Brittany nodded mindlessly, focusing her attention on her fingers, pressing slowly against Santana's warm entrance. Through the flimsy material of her thong, she could feel how wet she was, dripping down her thighs and soaking the tip of her fingers.

"How long?" Brittany whispered, pressing her thumb just where she knew–

"_Oh_," Santana gasped, digging her nails into Brittany's arm. "Right-t there, pleas–"

"How long?" Brittany repeated, pressing down on her bundle of nerves and drawing tight circles around it, loving the way she shuddered against her.

"Eleven – no thirteen,_ huh,_ thirteen months."

"That _is_ long," Brittany murmured against her neck, strands of black hair tickling her nose. She inhaled her scent before slipping her fingers past the scratchy fabric and parting her wet folds, inching herself inside her.

"Bri—"

"I know baby," she groaned. "Fast and—"

She heard the knock on the door and froze, knowing all too well who was behind it and what it meant. Santana shook her head and clenched her inner muscles against her fingers, trying desperately to grind against them. "Britt, no, _please_," she panted.

Brittany hesitated before she slipped her fingers out, earning herself a sharp scratch on her arm. "_No_," Santana whined, exasperated from being filled so nicely to feeling so empty now.

"I have to get it," Brittany said.

Santana huffed angrily and unstraddled her, moving to grab her coat. She knew her body was a sight for sore eyes, but she wasn't about to let a stranger gawk at her.

"You should go," Brittany murmured, tilting her head apologetically. There was an undeniable smile on her face, something that certainly didn't go unnoticed.

"I'm having lunch with a friend."

"Of course you are," Santana fumed. She tied her coat firmly and moved to the door, turning around with a glare. "Damn. This isn't over."

Brittany smirked as she held her stare and licked off her fingers, humming contently before she let them go with a pop. "We'll see."

She winked before moving to the door and opening it, grinning when Quinn rocked back on her heels and smiled. "Hey B, I was starting to think you weren't here."

Santana rolled her eyes from behind the door. So freaking charming.

"Sorry, I had an, uh, unexpected guest." Brittany motioned to Santana as she opened the door wider. "Q, this is Santana Lopez. Santana, this is Quinn Fabray."

They both greeted each other politely before Santana moved past them awkwardly, turning around to look at Brittany and mumbling a decidedly frustrated, "See you around", before walking down the steps of her house.

Quinn arched an eyebrow as Brittany smirked and closed the door.

"She seems…"

"Yeah."

"Is she the girl you told me about?"

"No, just an old friend."

Quinn smiled and nodded. She was definitely not convinced by the answer, however she knew not to push the issue. Brittany was being purposefully elusive but to be honest Quinn was too hungry to dig deeper.

"Well, I'm sorry I'm late. Sam had to go to the hospital because his assistant dropped a motor on his foot."

"Ouch, is he okay?"

"Yeah he'll be fine, he told me he's limping pretty badly though."

Brittany nodded as she moved to the kitchen, opening a cupboard to grab a cooking pot and fill it with water. She was trying to calm her breath, which was proving to be hard when she felt the burn between her thighs spread to her stomach.

She turned to Quinn. "Tuna mac okay?"

"Definitely okay. I'm so starved I could eat blood sausage."

Brittany laughed. Quinn said such odd things at times. "Blood sausage is actually delicious, you just have to season it well."

"Well, it's an acquired taste I guess."

"Blah, you've no taste at all," Brittany teased.

"I have enough taste to know that woman I just met was extremely gorgeous. Also, I totally twat swatted you, didn't I?"

Brittany blinked, turning around to look at Quinn. "Since when – what are you… I mean, what?"

Quinn grinned. "You think you're so clever, but you've got her lipstick all over your mouth."

Brittany's eyes widened as she wiped her lips. She looked down at the back of her hand and, unsurprisingly, there was a reddish smear from her fingers to her wrist. As Brittany remembered Santana's luscious lips, she grew distracted by the image of her walking home so scantily clad. Or perhaps she had driven here… but imagining her fingers griping at the steering wheel frustratingly, no doubt squeezing her thighs together as she drove home, proved to be an even bigger distraction. So much so that she didn't hear Quinn's bark of a laugh.

"Oh my, you are _smitten_."

Brittany cleared her thoughts, eyes narrowing as she noticed Quinn was now setting the table for two. She'd been a very good friend ever since they met at Cuisine, and their weekly lunches were now routine, but Brittany suddenly felt terribly uncomfortable. Or perhaps guilty was the term, as she realized Quinn was always very open with her, often talking about her husband, Sam, and their three year-old wonder, Gabriel, while she shied away from delving too much into personal stories.

Quinn was one of the rare people who knew about her double life, so to speak, and Brittany considered her her best friend. However, it was still awkward to share so much when really they'd only known each other for two years.

"I have to say, when you described her two weeks ago I had no idea she—"

"That wasn't her," Brittany blurted.

"What?"

"The girl I told you about two weeks ago was Samantha. She broke it off after our second date," Brittany sighed.

"Oh. I'm sorry, I didn't know."

"It's okay, I'm just glad you didn't start telling Santana that," she smiled.

"Yeah… so what's the deal with her?" Quinn asked, albeit a bit hesitantly. She knew Brittany was definitely not an open book, but it was worth a try.

Unsurprisingly, Brittany waved her hand in the hair and said, "It's complicated." It sounded odd in Quinn's ears, but her friend's hasty dismissal made her arch a curious eyebrow. Mhm, maybe she'd have to Google this Santana Lopez.

Internally she reasoned this was not creepy at all. She only had her best friend's interests at heart, and only God – and most likely Sam – knew how long she had been trying to set Brittany up with the perfect match.

* * *

After a very copious meal and Quinn complaining about her inevitable food coma, they said their goodbye and rescheduled their next lunch for Friday. Brittany was happy Quinn hadn't noticed her being completely distracted, although she wasn't so sure that was the case. Quinn was always very observant, a skill that no doubt contributed to her career as a photographer, but she was also very tactful, something Brittany really appreciated. She'd had friends push for personal data about her before, and she'd never been too comfortable with it, choosing to answer peculiarly so as to throw them off. Granted, they often called her insane or idiotic behind her back, but it still had the desired effect.

Brittany was grateful to have Quinn.

Not to mention, her work at Cuisine was damn stunning. Brittany loved her style in general, but her articles were always accompanied by the best of culinary pictures, which Brittany admitted made her drool more than once.

She pondered if she should tell her about Santana, but Brittany realized she wouldn't know where to start. Their history was one heck of a mess. Brittany had lost count of how many times they had broken up and gotten back together. She rubbed her temples as she felt a migraine coming – just the thought of it made her want to bash her head into a wall.

She flopped down on her desk chair and glanced at her computer, noticing the mail icon jumping up and down on her desktop. She clicked on the box and bit her lip as she read through Shelby's answer.

_Brittany - _

_Everything sounds good. I heard about Adjacent but I was going to ask Jesse to check it out. _

_You have my okay to do it though. _

_I can give you a delay for LuPones if you want. _

_- Shelby Corcoran_

Brittany hummed thoughtfully as she realized Shelby was giving her the green light to review Santana's restaurant. This was going to be delicate, and she wasn't so sure about this now that Santana had — well, now that _both_ Santana and her had acted like animals in heat. Brittany would have to keep her distance if she wanted to stay unbiased, which was definitely something she prided herself in. She shuddered at the thought of speaking to Santana like the last time, sitting at a table as she secretly reviewed her food and her staff. If Brittany had learned one thing from their relationship, it was how much the now-chef loathed anything to do with lies and deceit.

As she let thoughts of Santana wash over her once again, Brittany knew this would definitely be a challenge. At this point, however, the only thing she was worried about was the wrath of her ex-girlfriend if she ever discovered she was about to be duped.

* * *

**AN: **Thanks to everyone who reviewed/put on alert/favorited, I really appreciate it. Would you guys be interested in flashbacks of their relationship? I was thinking about including some but I know some people like the mystery, so eh, it's all up to you :)


	3. Chapter 3

Santana was in the middle of preparing a spicy grilled corn salad with black beans and queso fresco when Holly bumped her shoulder and motioned to the door. Kurt was waving dramatically, the sign he had come up with after she asked him to tell her if Brittany showed up again. She nodded at him and watched as he left the kitchen, wondering which meal Brittany had ordered this time.

"What was that about?" Holly asked.

"Huh?"

"The obnoxious waving."

"Oh," Santana snapped out of her thoughts, "I asked Kurt to give me a heads up if Brittany came back."

"Hmm..." Holly hummed, "is that why you've been distracted since Monday?"

Santana frowned, whisking the dressing Tina had made before adding it to the corn, peppers and beans. "I. . . guess. I don't know; we just have a lot of history."

Holly, knowing her friend, nodded silently as she watched Santana's brows come together. She looked lost and nervous, so focused on the salad in front of her that she barely acknowledged her surroundings. It wasn't exactly troublesome – focus was necessary for an up-and-comer, especially if she wanted to be praised for the quality of her food – but it was still surprising to see her so subdued. Santana was a great chef, but she was also self-absorded. This wasn't a bad thing; just a fact. She treated her staff very well and no one complained, but there were certain things about her that were undeniable.

For example, she often sang as she worked, or at least hummed. Sometimes she'd just whistle some old spanish lullabies, but other times she would belt out hits like it was morning and she was taking a shower: with no care in the world. It was fascinating – and sometimes a bit distracting, but that was beside the point.

A quiet Santana Lopez was a sight to behold.

After she finished the salad, she moved to the front of the busy kitchen, setting the plate on the order counter and tapping on a touch-screen to call in one of the waiters. She sighed and turned back around, only to jump when Marley bustled in to take the salad and bustled back out. The swinging doors offered Santana a glimpse of the small corridor that led to the main room. She hesitated before she looked over at Holly who winked at her, a sure sign she would take over.

Sometimes Santana wondered if Holly didn't enjoy these moments when she was a distracted mess. It often meant she took over Santana's station, which was always pretty exciting. With a small chuckle, Santana walked out of the kitchen, biting her lip as she scanned the room full of customers and her waiters. She spotted Kurt on the phone near the opposite corner; he seemed anxious and pale, which made Santana frown. Usually people called the restaurant to make reservations or ask about the menu, which wasn't anything worrisome. So she wondered why—

Ah. The thought escaped her mind as her eyes landed on the woman who'd stepped back into her life. Brittany looked lovely today, wearing warm colors that made her eyes pop even from a distance.

She sat at a more isolated table, her shoulder brushing the wall, eating with her bright yellow hat on, eating quickly, nibbling on meaty bones. When the bones formed a small heap on her plate, she licked her fingers, quite seductively, Santana noted, and wiped them on her napkin.

Then she carried her glass to her lips and tipped it back, rolling the wine in her mouth before she swallowed. Santana smirked thoughtfully, hit by a particularly naughty memory. Brittany had quite the taste for wine, which made her a very adventurous lover once it was paired with her taste for women. Well, one woman, Santana amended. She was sure it was impossible Brittany had tried _that _with another. It couldn't be, Santana reasoned. Of course not.

She brushed her fingers against the fabric of her uniform, just to feel something, just to ground herself, holding the hem in between her thumb and her index. Staring as she was, she didn't notice Kurt standing awkwardly next to her, cheeks flushed and ears red.

"I need to tell you something."

Santana merely blinked before she took her hat off and shrugged off her white jacket. She had a plain grey cotton t-shirt underneath, but it was much more fitting than her uniform. Kurt looked appalled at her shoving her clothes in his arms, but after a quick glance at the woman his boss had her eyes on, he knew no words would get her back in the kitchen. It seemed her usual focus had lost a bit of its drive recently, which didn't bode well with what he had just learned.

Santana, oblivious to his alarmed expression, pulled at her hair band, making sure the corner of the wall was still hiding her form. She brushed a few locks over her shoulder, made sure no strands were sticking out too wildly, and with a confident smirk, walked towards the woman now busy asking Sunshine for the toasted coconut cake.

The small waitress looked surprised when Santana made her way to Brittany's table, but one look at the chef and she knew this had nothing to do with business. After taking Brittany's plate, she scurried away.

Santana barely glanced at Sunshine as she sat down opposite Brittany, her eyes taking in the beauty in front of her.

"I gather this was tastier than the chilaquiles?" She arched a defying eyebrow.

Brittany chuckled, wiping the corner of her mouth with her napkin. She set it next to her glass and looked back at Santana, lips parted but no sound coming out of them. Santana cleared her throat, lowering her voice.

"Well, I hope you're happy about that little stunt you pulled on Saturday. I was squirming in my car the whole way back."

So Santana did drive back home, Brittany mused. The visual in her head was quite entertaining.

"Don't be so proud of yourself," Santana suddenly spat, not liking the look on her ex-girlfriend's face. She'd been painfully turned on and a cold shower had just pissed her off furthermore. She would have taken matters into her own hands, that's what she'd gotten used to do anyway, but after the short-lived pleasure of having Brittany's dexterous fingers inside of her again, she knew it would've just frustrated her more.

"Well what was I supposed to do?" Brittany humored her. "Cancel my lunch with Quinn?"

Santana's eyes lingered down to her lips, then to the table as she realized she was letting Brittany play coy and get away with it. "You know what I mean," she muttered.

Brittany shrugged. "Then you know there was nothing I could do about it."

There was a pause before Santana's shoulders slumped and she sighed, eyes darting to the right before Brittany cleared her throat to regain her attention.

"But. . ." she said, eyes twinkling mischievously, drifting to Santana's breasts, recalling how she cupped them only a few days ago, "I'm sure you found a way around your little problem."

Brittany was leaning back into her seat looking entirely too smug. Santana had to admit she liked it – how could she not enjoy a bold and furiously seductive Brittany. And seductive she was; she looked beyond amazing today. Her smile was crooked and coy, but Santana knew better. Brittany was being cocky and she loved it.

Deciding to bring the ball back in her court, Santana lowered her voice. A little lie wouldn't hurt.

"I did actually. Take care of my _problem_, that is."

Brittany arched an eyebrow, her curiosity piqued. "Oh?"

"Yeah. Nice and. . . slow," Santana husked.

"I'm glad," Brittany stammered, carrying her glass of wine to her lips and tipping it back.

Santana smirked as she watched Brittany's face flush, fingers tense as she held her glass. "Wanna' know how I fucked myself, B?"

Brittany swallowed, images of Santana touching herself turning her brain to mush. Better even, images of her touching Santana, licking up her folds and letting her scent overwhelm her. It had been so long...

"Remember your birthday party?" Santana smiled knowingly. "That little _gift_ I wore for you?"

"Fuck," Brittany breathed out, "you still have—"

"Uh-huh. And you want to know something crazy? No matter how many times I wash it, it still smells like you."

It should have been gross; Brittany should've been disturbed at the thought of Santana's sex toys still smelling like her, but instead she couldn't stop picturing the woman using them.

"It does?" She gulped.

"Well you know," Santana smirked, "it's not like I ever used _that_ one on another chick. I knew I'd be picturing you the whole time."

"Yeah? Did you picture me this weekend?" Brittany wanted to know. She was getting hot and Santana hadn't even been half as explicit as she usually was.

Santana's eyes narrowed thoughtfully. She hadn't expected Brittany wanting her to go into details – it wasn't the ideal place, though the table was a bit more secluded this time – but she could still work this to her advantage. Maybe so much so that Brittany wouldn't object to be hauled into the storage room for a quickie or five.

"Yeah," she drew out. "You were all over me, your fingers, your mouth, touching me. You were wild. I couldn't stop thinking about—" Santana paused, "—that time in Turks and Caicos, when you went down on me all night."

Brittany nodded at she listened to Santana's sultry voice. "That was a good night."

"Mhm, and morning."

"I know, you couldn't even walk afterwards. I had to carry you to the beach."

Santana smirked. "That was a lie, I just wanted to be in your arms."

Brittany chuckled, eyes locked with Santana's. Neither broke their gaze when Sunshine came over and slid Brittany's desert in front of her, so quick she was with another customer in a second.

Finally, after a couple more seconds of the silent exchange, Brittany cleared her throat and looked down at the coconut cake. Just as she grabbed her spoon, she remembered she had a job to do, one that required her complete unbiased opinion.

Well, so far this was going terribly. Not that the main course wasn't good, quite the contrary, but even if it hadn't been she was pretty sure she'd still write Santana the best review just for her gorgeous face and wicked words.

"You chose well – my pastry chef makes a mean coco cake."

Brittany smiled as she cut a small piece with her spoon and brought it to her lips, eyes closing as she moaned in appreciation. "Wow."

"Told ya'," Santana chuckled. "Mercedes is a rockstar."

After she took in the rush of flavors, Brittany swallowed. "Mercedes Jones?"

Santana frowned confusedly. "Yeah. How do you–"

"I still work at the Culi Mag," she blurted out, suddenly aware her knowing who Mercedes Jones was could compromise her job. She didn't want Santana to be suspicious of her knowing so much, so naturally she tried to cover her tracks. The Culinary Magazine was the first food related paper she'd worked at, although it had started out as a crummy internship. She'd been there during her whole relationship with Santana, but a couple of months after their break-up, Shelby had contacted her and offered a much more promising job at Cuisine.

"I wrote an article on the pastry industry and her name came up when I was in the research process," she tried to shrug off.

"Oh. I thought you'd have quit by now..." Santana trailed off. "I mean... they kind of treated you like crap."

Brittany looked down, knowing she was terrible at lying. "It got better."

Before Santana could open her mouth, Brittany cut another piece of the cake. "Want a bite?"

"...Sure, I mean, it's not like I eat this every weekend," the chef chuckled.

Brittany smirked and lifted the spoon, letting it hover inches away from Santana's lips as she stared at her. "Well?"

Santana shook her head with a smile before she set her forearms on the table and hunched forward, moving her face so she could wrap her lips around the spoon. She took her time, sinfully so, looking intently at Brittany until she pulled the spoon back towards her and Santana sat back in her chair, chewing a mouthful of cake.

Brittany couldn't stop looking, looking at those full lips she'd kissed only Saturday, looking at those deep brown eyes that made her dizzy with want. If she could just...

But no, she couldn't. Not while her review could make or break Santana's career – sure her restaurant had only opened a few months ago, but the business was difficult enough without having to deal with a bad review. Not that it would necessarily be bad, Brittany was quite impressed for now, but she still intended to come back at least twice, and who knew what her taste buds would like or not like.

From her seat, Santana was sure she'd never seen Brittany look so desirable. It was silly really, but the way she held herself, the way her eyes hinted at everything words couldn't say, had Santana completely captivated.

"God I want you," she breathed out. "I want you back."

"I know you do," Brittany recovered, "but you can't have me."

"Why not?"

"Don't play games, you know why."

Santana swallowed, opting for the honest route this time. "I know I was a shit girlfriend. But let's be real here, you were too."

"That's not a great way to get me back in between your legs."

"Just let me finish," Santana bristled. "Look we were young, we both fucked up a lot. But it – I mean it could be different..." she paused, eyes finally darting back up to look at Brittany. "We had good times too, didn't we?"

After a beat, Brittany tilted her head to the side. "What are you doing?"

"I—"

"We argued all the time, Santana. We fought, and yelled, and argued some more. That's all we did. Every week; and for the dumbest reasons too."

"That's not all we did," Santana muttered. It was sweet, a sort of childish grumble that made Brittany smile.

"You're right. We fucked a lot too."

Santana couldn't help but smile, a small chuckle escaping her lips. "Damn right."

They both looked down before Santana frowned again. "I still think it could be different this time."

"Yeah?"

"Totally."

After flicking a breadcrumb distractedly, Brittany sighed. She didn't want to hurt Santana, but she knew they couldn't go down this path again. "Last week we barely said hi before you managed to piss me off. Two days after we almost had sex on my couch."

Santana blinked, then frowned. "Okay, so maybe it's not that different but—"

"Santana..."

"_Fine_. Suit yourself."

Santana looked down at her nails as her ego bruised. She could have anyone she wanted anyway; she was gorgeous, talented and successful. Brittany Pierce was not the only hot blonde with a taste for pussy.

"I don't even know why I bothered asking anyway," she intoned, chin held stubbornly high, "it's not like I don't have any other options."

Brittany rolled her eyes; she'd anticipated Santana acting like she didn't have a care in the world, but it was still grating. "Yeah? Is that why you haven't had sex in over a year?"

"Whatever. Just... enjoy your _desert_." Santana cut the conversation short, not liking the way Brittany's rejection felt. _Not liking it one bit_.

She got up and glanced at her before walking back towards the kitchen. When she got inside, she frowned. Holly, Tina and Kurt seemed to be talking animatedly, with Kurt looking frazzled and Tina stuttering. Well, that was new.

"What's going on?"

The small group turned to her. "That's what I was trying to tell you earlier," Kurt started. "We've got a bit of a... uh, code red."

"What do you mean?" Santana prompted.

Kurt looked at Holly before he scratched the back of his rather sweaty neck. He never liked being in the kitchen much. "Do you remember when I introduced you to my friend Rachel Berry?"

Santana groaned. "Yes unfortunately."

Kurt ignored her. "I mentioned her biological mom is the boss of Cuisine, and she recently renewed contact with her through her fiancé Jesse who works there..."

"Okay. . ."

"Rachel told Kurt that Jesse was supposed to review Adjacent," Holly cut in.

Santana swallowed, chuckling nervously now. "Um yeah, so what's wrong? St. James is a pretty laid-back food critic, why are you guys—"

"Long story short," Kurt interrupted her, "Rachel overheard Shelby tell Jesse that he didn't have to review Adjacent after all," Kurt gulped, "Susan Spite would do it."

Santana blanched, "Oh fuck."

* * *

**AN:** I was going to do some angst but I think we have enough of that on Glee, so this will be lighter after all – 10 chapters or so. Please let me know what you thought, I'll make sure to answer all reviews :)


	4. Chapter 4

Brittany sighed as she dropped her purse on the leather couch of her living room. She plopped herself next to it, not bothering to untie her shoes or take her coat off. Instead, she worried her bottom lip in between her teeth and looked at the dark screen of her television with a blank expression, wondering how she had gotten herself into such a big mess in so little time.

She hadn't meant to dismiss Santana so quickly, really she hadn't, but she knew it'd been the best possible answer. It wasn't like Brittany didn't want her either... god did she want her – Santana's little foray down memory lane had reminded her of so many small but endearing things about the woman – but it wasn't something she could actually act on. Santana was only trying to talk her way into her bed, and Brittany, well, it had been a couple of weeks since she'd last had sex, but she wasn't so painfully turned on that she would let herself fall back into a destructive relationship. Then again, if it was only sex...

Brittany shook her head. It would never stop at "only sex" with Santana. Perhaps the first few orgasms would be mindblowingly satisfying but then would come the small bickering about odd little things, passive-agressive remarks, never-ending arguments and angry blowups. They had once had a fight about who would wear a damn strap-on, which did not result in the angry sex Brittany had wantonly expected. Oh no, that had definitely not been one of those fights. Santana had slept on the couch that night, mumbling and groaning about the unfairness of it all.

God, Brittany thought, how ridiculously dramatic they used to be.

That being said, they had had their share of good times. It was unfair to list all the things that had gone wrong without reminding herself of their more loving times. In two years they'd had many beautiful moments together, and Santana had made Brittany happy for quite a long time. It was often overshadowed by more frustrating memories, but if she was honest with herself, Brittany knew her relationship with Santana was more passionate and intense than any other. She'd dated since, of course, but nothing so serious she'd felt the need to share all her secrets, talk into the wee hours of the morning, make love for hours on end or text silly things every now and then.

Maybe her full time job was the reason for the lack of romance in her life, but it wasn't like she hadn't been working her ass off at the Culinary Magazine during their relationship. Santana had also bounced from job to job, from waitressing to being a kitchen hand, so perhaps Brittany was trying to pull excuses out of thin air. No one ever came close to the chef and that was perhaps the most infuriating truth.

But what was Brittany supposed to do? Admit that their past was catching up with her and she wouldn't mind giving it another shot? It would be the equivalent of opening herself up to heartbreak all over again. What was she thinking? People didn't change... or at least not drastically over the span of three years. Santana and her might have matured, but together they would still be a recipe for disaster. For now, Brittany convinced herself, she'd have to make sure Santana knew their banter was the best they would get.

* * *

Adjacent was usually quite the busy place.

It wasn't huge by any means, but the dining room was certainly not small either. Some would say it was cosy because of the warm colors and modern-yet-vintage decor, but Santana would describe it as _sheer genius_. One of her mother's friends, Emma, a quiet but very creative woman, had helped with the interior design, giving the room a whole new vibe. It was trendy and comfortable and Santana had fallen in love with Emma's ideas and process. She had perfectly understood what she wanted and it'd been overwhelming to see the result. _Maybe_ she had even shed a tear or two, and _maybe_ she had hugged the woman harder than necessary, squishing her so much she'd damn near strangled her.

In Santana's defense, she was an enthusiastic hugger.

However, today, the chef couldn't help but scan the dining room critically, eyes snapping from corner to corner, wall to wall, table to table to pinpoint any possible _hideous_ detail. She gnawed on her bottom lip, hidden by the pan of the wall that led to the kitchen as she observed the last few customers chatting quietly as they finished their deserts or asked for the check. It was getting late and her staff was already starting to clean up, but she couldn't bring herself to move. She racked her brain for any possible solution to her dilemma and even considered hiring a private detective to find out what Susan Spite looked like. Surely someone knew.

She was frantic; even breathing proved to be a stressful task. She'd snapped the rubber band around her wrist more times than she could count, and every time she did it, Holly and Kurt cringed. Santana could feel her wrist getting more tender, the skin red and irritated, making her eyes prickle with unshed tears.

Adjacent was her baby, and the shark of food columns would soon walk in and eye every little detail critically. Nothing was safe – Santana had read many of the woman's articles: they were ruthless. Not only that, they were smart and creative too, and readers had faith in Susan's sharp opinion and broad range of tastes.

Blaine Anderson, whom Santana had met in college, had seen his reputation completely destroyed. Today his restaurant was still fairly successful, but amongst the business, he was very much a laughingstock. Santana remembered a time when both of them were good friends, not to mention a team during some of their cooking exams, so she always felt a pang whenever she read about the downfall of Bowtie. If Susan's review was negative, Santana wasn't too sure what she would do with herself.

Perhaps the critic wouldn't appreciate Santana's personal touches, like the honey tang in some of her salads or the spicy taste of her guacamole. With the amount of expertise she had, Santana wondered if she was one of those old housewives who didn't appreciate young up-and-comers' twists on classic recipes. Or maybe... Santana shuddered, shaking her head; the possibilities were endless. She was usually confident about her skills and her staff's efficiency, but cockiness would not do her well this time.

Her hair would surely be grey by the end of the week—and what an appealing sight that would be.

"Santana..." Holly cooed, rubbing her back. She'd been trying to calm her for the better part of the last hour but Santana had completely shut down. She was both frantic and scarily quiet, which wasn't a combo that meant good things.

"We have nothing to worry about," she tried again. "Our menu is solid and everyone is on alert."

Santana stared at the diced onions on her wooden board, something she had done earlier to occupy her hands. Holly's words rang terribly in her ears.

"Our menu..." she murmured, eyes widening.

Holly's brows came together as Santana turned around to face her, looking like a ghost had just scared her crapless.

"I have to change the menu! The chilaquiles," she sputtered, "they're all wrong! And the salads, what if I mess those up too? Oh god what if she was here this week?"

"Calm down," Mercedes jumped in, having observed Santana's panic from her station. She had just cleaned the sticky mess and stored away her utensils, which meant she would usually be walking home by now, but she felt the need to reassure the chef.

Santana was like family and though they were the same age, give or take a few months, Mercedes liked to coddle her like a big sister would. They had their moments of banter and their arguments, much like members of a family would, and she would always appreciate Santana for hiring her. She'd gotten her out of a rough patch and it seemed like now, Santana was the one in need of a shoulder to lean on.

"You and I both know you're top bitch around here. We got so many compliments these past few months, I'm surprised your head is still on your shoulders."

Holly nodded along, smiling reassuringly at Santana. After a beat, she smirked. "Come on, let's see those Satan dimples."

Santana couldn't help but laugh as she felt the knot in her stomach loosen. She still felt like she wanted to crawl on her bed and sleep for a year or two, but the smile on her face was genuine. Her staff grounded her and reminded her she had nothing to fear. She was Santana Lopez, was she not?

"Thanks guys, I think I just freaked out for a bit."

"Freaked out?" Mercedes barked out a laugh. "Girl, that was the equivalent of gay panic for cooks. You did a complete 180."

"Huh," Holly smirked, "who knew you'd have two of those in your life."

"Shut up!" Santana squeaked. "I did not... cook panic! And for your information, I never once had a gay panic. Legend has it that when I came out of my mother I flirted with the hot midwife and got her number."

"Okay first of all," Mercedes grimaced, "creepy and a little inappropriate too. Second of all, it is now way past Satan and Wheezy time. I need to get my sexy self back home and you need to sleep."

Santana huffed and crossed her arms as Holly and Mercedes smiled, happy to see their chef back to her old self.

* * *

It only took a few days for Santana to snap her wristband again. This time, however, it was out of frustration rather than for anxiety management.

Truth be told, she was exhausted. The entire week she overdid herself at the restaurant, bustling everywhere and breathing down everyone's neck to make sure everything was perfect. The kitchen had gotten to be an overly stressful place for the entire staff, and even Marley and Sunshine, who were usually upbeat and cheerful, were starting to drag their feet. Santana knew she was dealing with this terribly. Instead of trusting her staff as she had done these last few months, she was acting as if they needed constant babying.

She was an annoyance to everyone and the mood had turned very sour, very quickly. All this for a review in a magazine amongst so many others. Well–

That wasn't entirely true. Cuisine had prestige and many loyal readers; it was a bible for food enthusiasts because its rubrics covered almost all aspects of the food industry, from culinary traditions to scrumptious recipes and the new up-and-coming places to look out for. This last category was exactly the spot Santana was secretly coveting. A whole page dedicated to Adjacent and its menu – the thought was a bit daunting, but since when did Santana not aim for the top?

Truth be told, there was so much more at stake than Susan Spite's opinion and review. This was the beginning of it all, the true kickstart her restaurant needed to thrive. In simpler terms, it was her make it or break it moment. Cuisine was to Adjacent what a blockbuster was to an unknown actor: a leap into the spotlight. Sure Santana's spotlight wouldn't include a residence in Hollywood and glamorous photo shoots, but who cared about that superficial stuff anyway.

As cheesy as it was, this could be the achievement of her dreams.

Santana groaned at herself, rubbing her temples, still sitting in her car and pondering what to do. She was tired and her overactive thoughts were clear proof of that.

It was a Saturday night and she'd left the restaurant early, grateful to have Holly for smooth sailing in the kitchen. Normally she didn't work on the weekend, mostly because she pulled insane hours during the week, but today she'd been too antsy to stay at home all day. She'd covered the lunch rush hour and hung her white hat quickly afterwards, dragging her body to her car.

However, she couldn't go back to her apartment – or rather, she really didn't feel like it at all. It was empty and just so. . . lonely.

The thought made her sigh. She figured she could go to a club, perhaps flirt with a woman and bring her back to her apartment, but her moves had gotten rusty and she was sure her body would collapse before she started dancing. This week had been impossibly long.

Besides, who was she kidding, she was still recovering from Brittany's resounding _no,_ and the thought of another woman was just plain boring. Brittany was both exciting and fascinating, she always did or said something that kept Santana on her toes. It was refreshing considering few people ever dared stand up to Santana's bark – especially knowing her bite was most likely just as fierce.

With that thought in mind, Santana looked at herself in the side-mirror, noting she looked like crap. Well, her face did anyway. She always had a banging body no matter what. She pulled her hair down and combed through the knots, feeling freer now that her tight ponytail wasn't pulling her damn scalp off.

Rain was starting to pour and she could barely see the road as she drove to Brittany's home. Along the way she wondered if maybe this was a sign: the sky was barfing cats and dogs because she was supposed to let Brittany be. She would only piss her off, she knew it... deep down she really knew it, but something in the back of her head was nagging her to keep going. She needed Brittany's company... and maybe that was selfish, but the woman could always slam the door in her face if she really didn't want her in her home.

When she finally arrived and managed to find a parking spot, Santana stepped out of her car with a squeak, the rain dripping heavily down her cotton shirt. It was the same plain thing she usually had underneath her uniform, so really it was no problem if she got soaked, but adding "sick" to her list of things that sucked wasn't exactly a number one priority. Quickly, she grabbed her trench coat in the backseat and threw it on, shivering as a gust of wind chilled her bones.

She sniffed as she locked her car and ran to the front stairs of Brittany's home, careful not to slip and fall on her ass.

After a couple of knocks, Santana wondered if Brittany was even here. There was light coming from her living room but then again, the chef remembered Brittany didn't have an alarm, and this was her logic when it came to burglars and such. If they thought someone was home, they wouldn't try anything. It was all so wonderfully innocent but Santana didn't have the time to coo over Brittany's sweet quirks. The rain was falling harder and it almost felt like she was drowning.

After another quick knock, the door swung open.

Santana looked up from a flower pot when Brittany opened the door, wearing an oversized grey sweatshirt, black leggings, and the comfiest looking socks. She held a cup of steaming coffee in her hand, blinking surprisingly at Santana's appearance. As she moistened her pink lips with the tip of her tongue, no doubt tasting the sweet bitterness of caffeine, her blue eyes flickered down to Santana's disheveled appearance. Her coat was unbuttoned and her dark hair was wild and tangled, some wet strands sticking to her cheeks and temple.

Fleetingly, Santana wondered if Brittany always looked at her this way. She was a soaked and blubbering mess, surely a dreadful sight, but Brittany's lips never curved into a smirk, Brittany's eyes never judged. Without knowing it, she was already her saving grace.

As she swallowed and looked at her pleadingly, with drops of cold water running down her face and neck, Santana finally released the breath she'd been holding. "I need you," her voice cracked.

* * *

**AN**: Sorry for the wait guys, the Holidays have been crazy! What did you think of this chapter? Next one should come quicker and will delve deeper into their dynamic :)


	5. Chapter 5

After a beat or two, the time for Brittany to process that Santana – a very, very drenched Santana – was standing in front of her, vulnerable and needy, Brittany finally stepped back into the warmth of her house.

"Santana," she stammered.

She was surprised, to say the least, even if the sight wasn't all so unfamiliar. It wasn't the first time her ex-girlfriend begged for entrance, though circumstances were now quite different.

As she recalled the silent plea in the chef's voice, not to mention how she was now fidgeting in place, Brittany blinked herself out of her stupor and rushed to say,

"Oh! Come in, come in."

She motioned inside, pulling the door wider as Santana finally stepped in, teeth now close to chattering. She was trembling, but Brittany had yet to know it was from fatigue rather than cold.

"You must be freezing," Brittany said, closing the door behind them. She turned to face Santana, but the woman was shaking her head.

"I'm okay," she murmured.

They looked at each other, unmoving, before Santana suddenly wrapped her arms around Brittany's neck, holding her tight as she felt her body collapse. It just felt so... –

She closed her eyes, almost as if she could finally fall asleep without worrying about the nightmares that had plagued her all week. Susan Spite be damned. She needed this small escape; her body and mind were so numb it felt like she hadn't slept in a month. Brittany knew her in and out, which meant she could allow herself to be a mess in front of her.

However, the unexpected embrace had Brittany feeling awkward and stiff, her thumb tentatively caressing Santana's back – well, wet coat. She'd almost spilt her coffee all over her hand, but thankfully the hot liquid in her mug had only sloshed a bit.

"S..." Brittany smiled as Santana's hair tickled her nose. "Um... you're like, super wet," she finished with a chuckle.

Santana blinked before she registered the words, hurriedly breaking the hug.

"Shit I'm sorry," she blushed as she took a step back, "I didn't—I wasn't thinking."

"Hey it's okay," Brittany smiled warmly. "Let's get you out of these clothes, yeah?"

Santana nodded, her thoughts too incoherent to answer in a suggestive manner. She took her coat off and hung it to dry as Brittany set her coffee mug on the kitchen table. The warmth of the place made Santana smile – it hadn't changed a lot. Sure she was here recently, but she hadn't exactly taken the time to get reacquainted with the decor. Rather, she had then deemed it more important to get reacquainted with Brittany's kisses and touch.

Not that she regretted it in any way...

As she slipped her shoes off and walked to the living room, Brittany motioned to the stairs that led to her bedroom, the two guest rooms and the bathroom. She'd inherited the house from her parents after they'd moved to Orlando when she was twenty, which was why it was entirely too spacious for one person. However, Brittany's excuse was that she loved the neighborhood too much to move. Santana smiled secretly at her stubborn streak. The truth, she knew, was that Brittany was quite the homebody – it was unlikely she'd ever move out without being constrained to.

It was odd to remember Santana had once lived here too. Quite a long time in fact, though both women knew it had been a premature step in their relationship. Santana had been struggling to pay the rent for her small studio apartment, and it was only after seven months of dating that Brittany had suggested she move in with her. Still, Santana had many fond memories of the place.

"You still haven't changed that chair," she noted with an impish smile, pointing to one of the two wooden chairs around the kitchen table.

Brittany turned around to face her, her eyebrows coming together. After a few seconds she understood what she meant and her eyes flickered to the chair. It was old, probably older than her parents, and it definitely looked the part. One of the wooden slats on the back was missing, and Santana vividly remembered how _that_ had happened.

Brittany, seeing the coy expression on Santana's face, smirked. "Yeah... I guess I haven't."

"It's a good chair," she then murmured.

Santana nodded as the memory washed over her. She remembered sitting on it, her legs spread as Brittany devoured her, soft but strong hands firmly holding her thighs.

Brittany, however, remembered the scene a bit differently, with Santana's fingers tangled in her hair and her eyes shut tight. Her head had been thrown backwards as she'd gasped for breath, moaning her name over and over again. She had this image; one of Santana completely overcome with pleasure, with wisps of black hair sticking to her forehead, and her breasts rising with each labored breath she took. Needless to say it was etched in Brittany's mind.

Eventually, the chair had toppled backwards, making Santana screech and Brittany blink confusedly as she was pulled forward. She'd quickly pushed Santana to the side before they'd started laughing maniacally, eyes glistening with tears. Brittany couldn't help but bite back a smile at the memory.

"You never finished me that day," Santana grinned, knowing her ex-girlfriend was recalling the same moment she was.

Brittany laughed. "Hey it's not my fault the pizza guy chose that moment to knock on the door; I didn't want to give him a free show."

"Uh-huh..."

"And later..." Brittany paused, smiling sadly. "Well you know. Same old."

Santana winced. "Yeah..."

She knew by same old Brittany was referring to a disagreement. Maybe it had been over which show to watch, or whose turn it was to wash the dishes, take the garbage out, clean the bathroom. Or perhaps Santana's eyes had lingered on another woman a bit too long — she was only human after all, though fiercely faithful, but it just so happened Brittany was the very-extreme-jealous type. Whatever it was, the chef couldn't remember at all, but it must have been bad for them to forgo sex.

"I'm sorry," Santana smiled softly.

"For what?"

"It was probably my fault."

Brittany looked at her quizzically and then smiled back. "No actually, it was mine. I pissed you off because I borrowed your tooth–"

"–brush," Santana recalled, scrunching her nose. "Oh I hated it when you did that."

"See," Brittany laughed.

"Well come on, yours was always right _next_ to it, I mean—"

"Santana..." Brittany sighed.

"Right... sorry."

* * *

After Santana had dried her hair with a towel and changed into the clothes Brittany had put out for her – a simple tank top and sweatpants – she'd walked back down the stairs and settled on the couch in front of the TV.

Brittany was making her a cup of chamomile tea, a drink she explained would help soothe her anxiety and make her sleep like a baby. Santana never really believed in these old home-remedies, but she knew coffee was definitely not a good alternative. Besides, she really enjoyed having Brittany take care of her...

Looking around the room, her eyes finally settled on the television screen.

"By the way, I'm sorry for springing up on you like this. Going home was just too much right now."

In the kitchen, Brittany shrugged. "S'okay."

Santana bit her lip. "I actually thought maybe um, you could give me your advice on something."

As Brittany waited for her to expand, she continued,

"Last week I had some pretty exciting news. Well, that's what Holly and Kurt think anyway but I'm pretty stressed about it... It's actually so bad I'm starting to piss everyone off."

Brittany frowned, wondering what had Santana so torn. She was looking at the TV, away from her, which meant she was either embarrassed about what she was about to say or very much anxious.

"Well, long story short, we heard Susan Spite from Cuisine is going to scope out Adjacent. She... her review is a make it or break it, Britt," she finished in a whisper.

Brittany froze, her heart pounding at Santana's words. Surely she didn't know… did she? No that was impossible. Brittany had been careful; she hadn't even come to Adjacent this week. She'd been busy with LuPones, Rachel Berry's place.

It was charming and the staff was obviously well trained, but Brittany had noticed how obvious it was Shelby's daughter knew a critic would come. Everything was too… perfect, too detailed and too cautious. The waiters were overtly polite, to the point of being annoying, and the food was much too detailed. Now Brittany liked all kinds of presentations, but she was pretty sure shredded cheese in the shape of small stars was overdoing it. For a so-called bistro, the place was definitely not _modest_.

The theme of the restaurant was glitz and glamour, that much was obvious, but what the restaurant lacked was simplicity. Everything was so overdone, served with bright sparkly smiles, that Brittany had wondered if she hadn't stepped into an add meant to cure cancer. Brittany knew if her mother had been there, she'd have called the place overtly _flamboyant_. It was exhausting, which was why Brittany hadn't had the courage to eat there more than twice this week.

However, she was confident she'd tasted and seen everything she needed to in order to write an article Shelby would approve of. The task was a bit more delicate since Rachel was her boss' daughter, but Shelby had asked for her usual honest, bold opinion, which is what LuPones would get.

Hearing Santana's fragile words, Brittany knew now more than ever that she had really taken this whole "mess with your ex-girlriend" charade way too far. Quietly, she walked to the couch with Santana's tea and sat down opposite her, handing her the mug.

Santana thanked her with a smile, but her next words came out as a shy murmur. "I don't know what I'll do if I screw this up… I'm driving everyone crazy, I know it."

Swallowing, Brittany looked at the coffee table. She could hear how hollow Santana sounded, could feel how this was taking a toll on her. Brittany took another moment to reflect on this, realizing Adjacent was most likely the first restaurant she would review this early on. She'd never even thought about it, but what had started off as a fun challenge was now shaping out to be a terrible mistake. Not only was she lying to Santana, she was also screwing with her emotions and adding on to the already considerable stress of managing a restaurant.

Adjacent had only been opened for a couple of months, and here she was, preventing Santana from basking in her newfound success. Reviews came later on usually; and small, casual reviews at that, nothing of too big importance; so Brittany felt horrible for the pressure she'd inadvertently put on her ex-girlfriend's shoulders. She was mad at the person who'd tipped Santana off, though confused as to who that could be, and mad at herself for jumping headfirst into something she should have known would stress Santana out.

She hadn't meant to hurt her.

In fact, in the back of her head, she'd imagined herself surprising the woman with an excellent review: she'd seen and tasted enough to know her menu was exquisite, so she was angry at herself for the complete downfall of her plan. A plan she realized had been foolish, even if well-intentioned.

"Just be yourself," she finally murmured, looking down at Santana's ankle. She wasn't sure how to comfort her without blurting out the truth — lying had never been her forte, especially if Santana was so broken up about it.

Santana looked at her, her eyes flickering to her ankle on the couch as Brittany's index drew small circles on it. It was soothing and Brittany's touch was always welcome.

"Yeah," she answered softly, "but… no offense Britt, that's not exactly what this woman will be looking for. I mean… even if she likes the menu, even if my staff is amazing… what if it's not enough? She's reviewed_ Menton_, B! Freaking Menton and other restaurants ten times more luxurious or pompous than mine, how could I ever match that? We don't exactly serve beef bourguignon or _escargots._ We don't even have cool sounding French meals!"

Brittany tilted her head to the side, now surprised to hear Santana's reasoning. So this was what she was afraid of? She almost chuckled — Santana was confident enough to know her food was succulent, but her fear lied in the fact Adjacent had no prestige for now. Well… this, Brittany could work around.

"Honey," she cooed, the pet name, slipping out easily, "I can't tell you what she'll be looking for exactly, but she's probably also reviewed smaller-scale places. That's her job isn't it? She's probably even grateful she doesn't have to eat the same types of meals every time. I mean... sometimes you want a really great, well-presented meal, but then other times you just want a good burger with fries or a simple salad, you know?"

Santana looked at Brittany, hanging on to each one of her words. She realized she valued her opinion so much, but also... also, her words had sparked an idea.

"That's right," Santana said, her voice less weak than before, "you know about this stuff, you do it for the Culi Mag."

Brittany's eyebrows came together. "Um yeah but—'

"Brittany this is perfect! You could write a review too!"

"W-what?"

"It could… if Spite's review is bad, yours could soften the blow. Everyone in the business reads the Culi Mag!"

Brittany's heart raced as Santana sat up and set her tea on the coffee table. How could she get out of this one?

"S, the Culi Mag is like… the Justin Bieber of food journalism."

Santana scrunched her nose. "A lesbian?"

Brittany laughed, though it was more nervous than amused. "No silly. Completely overrated. And bad. Really, really bad."

"I don't understand. Why do you still work there if you hate it so much?"

Brittany shrugged. "I guess… I guess I'm still waiting for my big break."

"Oh Britt…" Santana murmured, sitting on her knees and closer to her now, "you'll get it one day, I know you will. But you know, if you'd like, there's always a spot in my kitchen for a kickass swing cook…"

Brittany chuckled genuinely. "You know we'd drive each other crazy."

"Well don't we always," Santana playfully husked in her ear.

Brittany shivered. Santana was so close to her, smiling softly but wickedly, her hand now playing with the hem of her sweatshirt. She smelled like rain and _Santana_, the Santana she'd laze around with naked in bed, caressing her back with a soft smile on her lips. The Santana she'd have raw cookie dough fights with or take baths with in the middle of the night.

She cleared her throat and moved her torso forward, grabbing her mug. "More tea?" She asked, starting to get up.

Before she could, Santana grabbed her arm, tenderly, carefully. "No thank you, B. I just want to talk to you."

Brittany bit her bottom lip as she sat back down cross-legged. She let her head rest on the back of the couch, angling it so she could look at Santana.

After a while, she murmured, "Okay, I'll do it."

Santana's eyes flew wide open. "You will? You'll write a review? A... a good review?"

Brittany paused, still giving herself time to back out. But who was she fooling? She couldn't say no to Santana, not when her eyes looked so hopeful. "I'll write a good review."

"Oh Britt," Santana said, throwing her arms around Brittany's neck, "thank you so much."

Brittany chuckled as she set her mug down this time. "Your food is good... really good."

Santana smiled against her neck before she looked down at Brittany. "Yeah?"

"Uh-huh."

"Just imagine if Spite likes it enough, I could be on one of the first pages of Cuisine. How badass is that?"

"Pretty impressive," Brittany nodded.

Santana bit her lip. "But I think... well, now I'm more psyched about reading your review."

"Why? 'Cause you know it'll boost your ego?" Brittany grinned.

"Bitch!" Santana laughed, then blushed. "No because... gah, it's _you_."

"Aww. Well, I'll make sure to type like the wind then, so I can give my editor my best work ever as fast as possible," Brittany teased.

Santana looked down at Brittany's lips, bitting her own as she husked, "I don't want you to exhaust your wicked fingers though. Well, not on _typing_, that is."

Brittany's eyes popped open. Santana's warm breath was on her lips and she could feel her fingers gently toy with the small hairs at the nape of her neck. She'd never had chills crawl up her skin so fast.

"T-that's, um, well. I never got your fascination with my hands."

Santana smirked, "Oh come on, I'm sure if you Googled lesbian hands a picture of your fingers would pop up. Newsflash babe, they're like, lesbian nirvana. Sappho would have written so many poems about them—"

"Santana!" Brittany hushed, face crimson.

"What? It's true."

"Still," Brittany grumbled. "It's weird. We don't do that stuff anymore."

Santana arched an eyebrow. "That stuff? You mean sex? Fucking? Mating?" She laughed.

"You are so crude," Brittany sighed.

"Mmm you used to like it."

"Keywords: _used to_."

"Oh please."

"Don't start."

"No this is just typical Brittany. You always deny the truth but when it comes down to it you're just as crude as I am."

"Am not."

"Oh yeah? '_Fuck me good, Santana'," _she mimicked Brittany,_ "'Eat me out in the movie theater, Santana'. 'Suck my—"_

Brittany crashed her lips against hers, effectively cutting her off. After a beat, she pushed her on her back and settled between her legs, growling a "Shut up," against her mouth.

She swallowed her surprised yelp and thrust her hips forward, grinding roughly into her. Santana arched up into her, tipping her hips to create more friction and relieve the burn between her legs. It was amazing how Brittany got her so wound up so quickly.

"Britt- mm clothes," she said in a breathless moan. Brittany's breasts mashed against hers, but as she felt her nipples harden, she was surprised Brittany had already gotten back up.

"What are you–"

"You're tired," Brittany groaned, standing up and taking a step away from the couch. "I – we shouldn't. It's no good when you're tired," she stammered for an excuse.

Santana let out an offended snort. "Are you fucking serious? Brittany this is the goddamn second time—"

"Santana," Brittany rushed to say. Then, in a softer voice, she whispered, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to do that. You just... I'm not used to having you around me anymore. I–I don't know how to be your friend."

She remembered what she'd promised herself a few days ago. She remembered as Santana's tongue had been sucking hers and the thought had made her pull away like she'd been burned. In a way, she had.

They couldn't go down this road again. She could see all the similar patterns in their little game of words: the closeness that led to what ifs, the warmth and kindness of Santana that led to wondering... maybe... perhaps... things changed? But then, then the bitter, bitter words and harsh truths that led to anger fueled kisses and crazed actions.

She'd told herself Santana and her could banter lightly, be their flirty selves and allow themselves that. But it had changed, hadn't it? When she'd seen Santana at her most vulnerable on the step of her house... _God,_ Brittany had let her promise slip away. Still, she knew she was right in telling Santana she didn't know how to act around her.

Maybe she had been wrong to break up so abruptly with her. Perhaps a clean break would have worked better in the long run – at least there would have been closure. Was that what they needed? The definite "we had good times, but now it's over"? Brittany shook her head; that couldn't be it. She refused to believe it.

"Brittany..." Santana murmured, pulling her out of her thoughts. She was standing in front of her now, taking both her hands in hers.

"Let's just go to bed, okay?" Brittany swallowed. She knew what Santana would say, and she also knew she didn't have it in her to shoot her down a second time. With a sad smile, she slipped her hands out of Santana's.

Santana fidgeted. "Well... can we at least cuddle? Friends cuddle, no?"

Brittany chuckled. "Yeah, friends cuddle. But S–"

"No funny business. Promise."

* * *

Brittany held her all night. Santana slept with her lips close to her neck, but somehow they'd managed not to kiss even once. She felt her steady breath near her ear, and for a while she wondered how it was Santana seemed so small in her arms. She was glad she was asleep though, and hopefully she would wake up well-rested and ready to knock down Susan Spite a peg or two.

Brittany chuckled to herself — sometimes even she forgot she was talking about herself.

* * *

At 11AM Brittany's eyes flew open, and she turned around hastily when she realized Santana had left. On the right side of the bed, however, was a note.

_Britt -_

_Thank you so much for everything. Last night was... everything I remember about being with you: I felt safe, warm and cared for. _

___I had to leave early - my mom and aunt are stopping by for lunch today, yikes! __I hope you'll come to the restaurant this week; after all it's your job now, right? ;)_

___See you soon, _

_Santana_

Brittany let herself fall back on her bed, covering her face with the paper as she remembered her hasty promise from last night. She was screwed, so very screwed.

* * *

**AN:** Oh boy, Brittany has got herself a little situation, doesn't she? What did you think of this chapter? Thank you for all your reviews, I really appreciate them :)


	6. Chapter 6

**Sorry for the wait, I got caught up with work and then... well, Glee happened and sucked me dry. Not #wanky. On a more positive note, ohvalerievalerie on tumblr made an amazing poster for the fic! Check out her blog, it's awesome :)**

* * *

Screwed was an understatement.

Brittany had never felt so unsure and lost. She had no idea what to do regarding the giant lie her mouth had produced, and she had no clue how to break it to Santana that she wouldn't be able to write a review for the Culi Mag after all. Her plan this Tuesday was to go to Adjacent for lunch and apologize to the chef. She'd explain her boss didn't want a review for a restaurant this new and that was final. In other words, she would lie to cover another lie.

Granted that was playing with fire, but Brittany had rationalized that she preferred getting burned rather than be at the end of Santana's wrath. Snix was a terrible person to be up against, and she did _not _forgive easily.

The one thing Brittany was really dreading was Santana's reaction to the news. She'd be disappointed; her shoulders would slump and her fingers twitch. Her face would fall and her nose would scrunch. Her chocolate brown eyes, which had a softer edge than Santana liked to admit, would lose a bit of their spark and her full lips would pout in the subtlest way. Brittany had a weak spot for that face, and it was killing her to think she'd be the reason for it.

It'd take a minute or two for Santana to hide her disappointment, and eventually she would bounce back and pretend to shrug it off. The thought of it was completely depressing. Brittany didn't want to disappoint her. She wanted to be the one behind her beautiful laugh or shy glances—she loved when she caused the woman to blush or be at a loss for words. It was a rare thing but always adorable, even if Santana would deny it.

It was strange that after all these years Brittany still remembered such small things, yet she couldn't even recall her last girlfriend's favorite meal or band. Santana was magnetic; it was impossible to find her boring or bland. She was also always full of surprises, which was one aspect of their relationship that Brittany had always loved. She liked to think of herself as the fiercest woman in Boston—which she was, in a way—but Brittany knew better. She knew her weaknesses and she knew her fears. She knew that insects freaked her out and that she was terrified of failure.

Brittany remembered how Santana would walk around acting like she was tough shit, but then curl up into her at night and shyly ask if she could be the small spoon. Maybe they had both truly changed over the years, but Brittany was certain Santana's small vulnerabilities hadn't. She had recognized them when she'd seen her drenched and trembling, and she'd embraced them when she'd cuddled with her all night.

Brittany could slap herself for ruining their reconnection. It was all tainted by her ridiculous plan and her inability to say the truth.

Now, as she walked down an alley, a shortcut she'd recently discovered, she couldn't help but frown.

_This sucks_, she whined to herself. She was a grown woman and somehow she'd acted like a thoughtless teenager, all to impress her...

—her what?

She pouted hard and kicked a dried up leaf on the ground. Santana and her were _just_ starting to get back on track. They'd talked a good amount and Brittany truly felt like they could be... well, more than good friends. She'd realized this after Santana had left Sunday morning, but her thoughts had been a bit confusing. She knew she was acting hot and cold with Santana, and she was sure the chef would eventually be sick of it.

But what could she do? There were still so many doubts swirling around. And yet she couldn't get the woman out of her head anymore. Sure their relationship had never been easy, but their bond was. She felt like herself with Santana, even if a part of her identity was still hidden, and she loved how easy they just clicked. They had their occasional arguments, but it was nothing compared to how fast they used to set each other off when they were dating.

After a short while she reached the restaurant and swallowed nervously, taking her sweet time to cross the street. She was still unsure on how to proceed.

As she pushed the door and Kurt, the headwaiter, genuinely smiled at her, she noticed the place was only moderately busy. Then she remembered it was already after 2PM on a Tuesday so it wasn't exactly surprising. She sat down at the same table she had the last time and thanked Kurt when he gave her the menu. She had already memorized it by heart, studying the prices and perusing the meals, but she figured Kurt would be pretty damn suspicious if she admitted that. Perhaps she was a bit paranoid, but as her mother would always sing-song, better safe than sorry.

After a few minutes, a waitress took her order—sparkling water and the breaded eggplant with chimichurri sauce—and Brittany had to take a deep breath, wondering if Santana would come sit with her for a while. She knew she was probably busy in the kitchen—even if the restaurant wasn't as crowded as it must have been one or two hours ago—and disturbing her wasn't exactly on her list of priorities. Brittany didn't want Santana to think she was trying to sabotage her. However, the chef _had_ asked her to stop by, so it wasn't like this was out of the blue.

Brittany was about to ask the waitress; Marley, if she remembered correctly; for Santana, but she stopped herself when she realized that would be selfish. She'd noticed Kurt had disappeared in the kitchen shortly after seating her, so perhaps he had already alerted the chef of her presence. After a few seconds Brittany sighed, deciding to wait and see.

* * *

As she swallowed the last bite of the most delicious tres leche_s_ cake she ever tasted, Brittany made a note to include Mercedes Jones in her review. The woman really deserved all the praise in the world. Brittany was genuinely impressed by Santana's staff. Of course this wasn't exactly surprising, it was rare for Santana to aim for anything but the best. She'd gotten the 'crème de la crème' all right and it was obviously paying off. Not to mention she herself was a wonderful chef.

Brittany set her fork on her plate and awkwardly looked around, wondering if she should just ask Marley for the check and then leave. Santana was obviously busy in the kitchen and Brittany didn't want to bother her, so perhaps she could just stop by another day. That being said, she was starting to miss her own home-cooked meals. She loved the food here but she didn't want to grow tired of it because she ate here so much in a short span of time. Besides, cooking always calmed her and she was in need of something to soothe her growing nerves. This whole situation was starting to weigh heavily on her mind.

However, just as she was about to get Marley's attention, she noticed Santana, with her toque in hand and her white jacket slung across her arm. They eyes met immediately, and Santana disappeared behind a wall after a wink that had Brittany grin.

After two short minutes, the chef was walking towards Brittany with a change of clothes, smiling brightly as she pulled the chair and sat down in front of her.

"Hey you," Santana said.

"Hey... You changed?"

"Oh yeah. I don't like going out with my smelly cook clothes."

"Sounds like you," Brittany chuckled.

Santana bit her lip. "How did you like the food?"

"Really good. You guys are really on top of your stuff..."

Santana smiled proudly, her eyes sparkling with noticeable satisfaction. It was easy to see she was insanely happy about her achievements, and with good reason.

"Well you know, we can't really afford to lose steam with..." she looked around, "you-know-who writing about us."

"And yet you're here talking to me..." Brittany teased.

Santana snorted, "She can't hold that against me. I mean, have you seen yourself? I'm sure she'd understand why I'm... distracted. Besides, I've been busting my ass in that kitchen for months, I think I'm allowed a break, don't you?"

Brittany grinned, "Absolutely. And say... if she _were_ here right now, I'm sure she herself would be distracted by the... ah, pretty sight."

Smiling tenfold, Santana said, "Well maybe I should show a bit more skin next time then... if that's what she's into..."

"Or he..."

Confused, Santana frowned. "He?"

"Yeah, I mean... what if Susan is actually a guy?"

Santana gaped and paused before her eyes widened and she quickly scanned the room, like she was seeing things in a completely different way now. Brittany smirked; this could easily play in her favor... "Fuck I hadn't even thought about that," Santana breathed out. "Total genius."

"Me or the guy passing for a woman?" Brittany asked playfully.

The chef smiled, "You, always."

"Well I mean it could be... guy passes for woman to be completely incognito? It's not exactly unheard of..."

Brittany knew she was digging herself deeper into her hole, but at this point saying the truth was just off the table. Santana just looked so... happy. She couldn't do this to her; not here and not now.

"You're right. I just... damn," Santana murmured.

After a beat she shook her head. "Well whatever, I promised myself I wouldn't worry about it anymore. Holly and Mercedes were right, we've got a kickass menu and if Spite doesn't know it, then I have a few choice places I could shove a pan of roasted mussels into."

Brittany scrunched her nose, "What a waste."

Santana chuckled, "Yeah you're right, maybe I should choose something else."

"Well definitely not that breaded eggplant; it was really good, S."

"I'm happy you liked it. My girl deserves the best."

After a pause, Brittany bit her lip. "Your girl?"

Santana opened her mouth as she realized what she had implied. She thought about backtracking but cleared her throat instead, brushing the question off.

"I didn't have the chance to thank you properly," she smiled impishly.

Taken aback, Brittany raised an eyebrow. "For what? The review?"

"Yeah..." Santana trailed off. "And I do want to. Thank you _properly_, that is."

As Brittany noticed the curve of her smile, the playful spark in her eyes and the way she hunched over just enough to display a hint of cleavage, she knew she was done for. Resisting the woman was a fight she didn't want to win. So, swallowing, she asked, "And what would that entail?"

Surprised that Brittany wasn't resisting her, or perhaps pleased would be the right word, Santana felt her heart speed up. "Follow me," she said.

* * *

.

.

.

Brittany gasped, panted, moaned and swallowed. Pushed against the rack of bagged ingredients as she was, with Santana's hot tongue in the crook of her neck, she couldn't even tell right from left anymore. After they'd left the table the chef had taken her hand and led her to the storage room of the restaurant, pushed her against one of the stack of flour bags and kissed her fiercely.

Brittany couldn't have protested even if she wanted to. Still, she tried being reasonable, her nails digging into Santana's shoulders as she panted, "We c-can't…"

Santana groaned, overwhelmed by the smell of Brittany and the softness of her skin. She'd gone far too long without it. "Oh but we can baby, or better yet, _I _can." She trailed her tongue up her neck, peppering the skin with small kisses, until she reached her ear and husked warmly, "I want you so bad."

Brittany moaned, eyelids tightly shut as Santana sucked on her sweet spot, with her fingers trailing under her top and all over her skin.

"I can't wait anymore," Santana breathed out. She nipped at her jaw before pressing against her mouth again, kissing Brittany until her lips parted and their tongues found each other.

Brittany gripped her waist as she lost herself in Santana's familiar taste; there was nothing romantic and slow about this, but there was still an underlining tenderness that had her heart clench.

When Santana pushed her pants down and dragged two fingers against the soaked material of her underwear, Brittany knew she was done for.

"So wet baby…" Santana rasped.

Brittany's hips bucked and the chef smirked. In a second she dropped to her knees. "Lift your leg babe."

Brittany looked down at her with a dazed look, her hands shaking as she hooked her right leg over her shoulder. Her back, pressed against the hard metal bar of the rack, arched like a bow when Santana finally kissed the inside of her thighs. Brittany slid her fingers in dark hair, her head thrown back and her breath short as she tried to pull Santana towards the place she ached for.

Santana hummed as she held her other thigh firmly and took in her smell, keeping her in place as she pressed a kiss against her covered sex. "Oh God," Brittany choked out.

The chef tapped her hand against Brittany's thigh so she could drag her underwear down and off, smirking when the blonde immediately hooked it back on her shoulder. She loved how eager Brittany was. She inhaled her scent again before dragging her tongue along the exposed slit, both girls moaning when Santana lapped at the juices.

Brittany pressed Santana's head into her, her nails digging into her scalp and making the chef groan. She needed more, so much more of her tongue and her mouth and—

"San," she moaned, "please."

Complying, Santana pressed a kiss against her wet folds and licked a path towards her clit, hurriedly sucking on the bundle of nerves. "Hmm, I love your taste."

Brittany could barely hear herself think over the pounding of her heart; Santana's tongue in between her legs had her squirming and panting in place. "M-more," she begged.

Santana smiled before she quickly pushed her tongue inside her, taking Brittany by surprise and knocking the breath out of her. "F-fuck!"

As she felt moisture coating her cheeks, Santana groaned and pushed deeper into Brittany, tonguing her fast. After a short minute she brought her hand to her clit, rolling and pressing her thumb hard against it. When Brittany's moans grew louder, she switched it up and brought her lips to her clit, suckling on it as she slipped two fingers inside the blonde.

"San," Brittany groaned, tilting her hips forward so Santana's fingers could reach deeper.

"_Hhh yeah_..."

Santana smiled against her sex, burying herself completely in between her legs, loving the way Brittany's strong thigh was pressed against her ear, and the way she was using her hands to pull her face harder into her. She couldn't get enough of her taste, lapping at the juices like a starved woman and pounding her tight entrance. When she felt her spasm she knew Brittany was close, gasping for breath as Santana thrust her fingers in and out, building a fast rhythm.

Brittany bit her lip hard, feeling the knot in her stomach tighten, the burn between her legs driving her to whimper desperately. Her fingers grasped Santana's dark hair, messing it up.

"Come baby, come for me," Santana husked, working her fingers faster and flattening her tongue completely against Brittany's clit.

After a few seconds, Brittany cried out, her back arching and her eyes rolling back in her head as she came hard. Santana moaned at the added moisture coating her mouth and cheeks, licking her lover up and cleaning her diligently. She squeezed her own legs when she realized she was unbearably wet, the delicious consequence of getting on her knees and eating Brittany out.

Deep down she wished they were home in a bed, where she could make love to her more properly, but as she licked Brittany's juices and heard her breath even out, she figured the storage room of her restaurant wasn't so bad.

When she looked up at Brittany, whose head was still thrown back against a sack of flour, she felt warm and fluttery—like her world was rocked back on its axis. She knew Brittany was still trying to figure out how their relationship worked after all these years, and Santana wasn't going to try to push her to reconsider them getting back together again, but she hoped this would at least bring them closer to the possibility. Brittany breaking up with her had been something she'd had trouble accepting for months—though she had begrudgingly understood her reasons—and now that they had reconnected, Santana was only too eager to get back with her. She knew they had both changed and matured, and she was ready to make it work.

Gently, she pushed Brittany's leg from her shoulder and pulled her underwear up her smooth legs. Brittany had opened her eyes and was now looking intently at Santana, a soft smile on her dazed face.

"Hi," Santana murmured when their eyes met.

Brittany's tired smile widened and she pressed their lips together, her hand on Santana's cheek. Right before she could breathe out a shy "Hi" in return however, the door to the room slung open, making both girls jump and turn their heads.

"Oh my God!" Kurt yelped, and slammed the door shut.

* * *

**AN:** Only four chapters to go! Thanks for reading/reviewing etc :3


	7. Chapter 7

After bursting into giggles and walking past a mortified Kurt, Brittany and Santana had headed out of the restaurant on impulse. Santana had teased Brittany that she was a terrible influence, forcing her to leave her job so early, but Brittany had merely shrugged and smiled knowingly. They'd played this little game long enough for Brittany to know Santana was still painfully turned on, and the thought of leaving her in that storage room alone seemed completely unfair. It didn't hurt that pleasuring Santana was something she couldn't get her mind off. It'd been a while since she'd had her writhing beneath her, and the thought only led her to hurry her step.

They were only ten minutes away from Brittany's house, walking hurriedly hand in hand, when they were stopped short by a familiar face.

"Quinn, hi!"

"Hey Britt," the young woman smiled. Then, taking note of Santana's confused face, she tilted her head to the side. "Santana, right?"

Santana nodded, albeit a bit blankly. She remembered seeing her in passing that first time she'd... well, thrown herself at Brittany, and so it wasn't surprising that she felt mild irritation towards the woman. It seemed she was always here at the worst possible time. Santana needed Brittany's hands and mouth on her as quickly as possible, but this Quinn Fabray seemed hellbent on making her wait.

"Yeah," she swallowed awkwardly. She was pretty sure squirming around like a worm looked dubious, but to hell with that, her thighs had a mind on their own.

"Hey um, didn't you have that meeting to go to today?" Brittany asked, feeling dreary all of a sudden. She really hoped Quinn wouldn't mention Cuisine.

"Oh yeah, it's in two hours. But I actually just came from a meeting with Shelb—"

"Okay!" Brittany sputtered out hastily. Santana arched an eyebrow at her, and Quinn looked taken aback. "I'm sorry um—Santana and I have a, uh, meeting too actually. Well we're going to the movies so we need to hurry. I'll call you though, 'kay?"

Quinn blinked confusedly before she shook herself out of her stupor. "Okay. Um... Have fun then."

Santana smiled, now feeling kind of bad for the woman. Brittany had completely cut her off, and lied to her face too, which she was sure Quinn was aware of.

After parting ways though, she couldn't help but chuckle. Brittany's forehead seemed a bit sweaty and she looked like she'd just had an out-of-body experience. "Jeez Britt, I know we're both horny but that was just rough."

Brittany bit her lip, feeling both relieved and scared out of her wits. What if Quinn had talked about Cuisine? How mad and confused and betrayed would Santana feel right now? Would they still be walking hand and hand, eager to make love in bed? It felt so terribly wrong, like she was taking advantage of the chef. She knew she would be furious at her if she knew, yet Brittany would soon have sex with her knowing full-well the only reason it was happening was because her lies had yet to be discovered.

Suddenly, she couldn't help but feel sleazy.

Clearing her throat, she tried coming up with an alternative. "Hey actually we could go see a movie if you want..."

Santana laughed, and then shook her head. "Nu-uh, there is no way I am not getting off one way or another in the next thirty minutes. If you want Boston moviegoers to see my O-face that's fine, but it's in your best interest that you take me to your place. Like now. Seriously."

Brittany couldn't help but smile at Santana's eagerness. It _would_ be incredibly selfish of her not to fulfill her needs, and even if she felt guilty, she would make sure the evening was all about Santana.

After a seven minute race, both of them laughing like two sixteen year-olds, they finally reached the front steps of Brittany's home.

"Better hurry, babe," Santana smirked, watching her fumble with her keys. "You don't want your neighbors to see me butt naked now do you?"

Brittany groaned and quickly unlocked the door, pulling Santana inside and slamming the door behind them. She dropped her purse on the floor and pushed Santana against the wall, smiling teasingly when her breath hitched and her eyes darkened.

"Bri—"

She cut her off with a kiss, but Santana was playing hard to get. "Open your mouth," she whispered fervently.

Santana complied easily, realizing that teasing would only work against her. Brittany's tongue slipped inside her mouth with ease, and soon they were fighting for dominance. Their bodies pressed against each other in the most maddening way, and Santana realized they were grinding like teenagers when the blonde moaned into her mouth. When her mind got so clouded that she couldn't even think anymore, she felt Brittany part her thighs and cup her ass, lifting her up against the wall.

"Mh-mmm bedroom," Santana panted against her mouth, lips red and swollen. Quickly, Brittany carried her up the stairs and into the master bedroom, only stopping twice to recapture her lips.

Clothes were shed in a matter of minutes, and when Santana finally slid on the bed, beckoning for Brittany to join her, the blonde had to take a few seconds. She swallowed, almost nervously, when her eyes took in Santana's body. Her messy hair, her dark eyes and full lips, the slope of her neck and her protruding collarbone, the rise of her chest, dusky nipples pointing proudly, the lines of her V that led down to her mound, a watering sight that had her licking her lips.

"Please Britt, I... I need you."

Brittany snapped out of her daze at Santana's feverish tone, immediately joining her. She kissed her lips reassuringly before trailing a hot path down her neck, spurred on when Santana tilted her head to the side. Feeling confident that she'd sucked on Santana's weak spot long enough, Brittany devoted her mouth to the nipples yearning for attention. She covered one with her lips while she pinched and teased the other with her fingers, her eyes still focused on Santana's face. She could see the way Santana's forehead crinkled just a bit, the way her lips parted to let out the smallest whimpers, which only added to her own arousal. But, mindful of her promise to herself, she quickly whisked the thought away.

Letting go of her nipple with a soft pop, she parted Santana's legs wider, her eyes now trailing down to her core. Santana was so wet and tense, her stomach muscles quivering in anticipation. Brittany wanted to draw this out, but she could see the chef was already at her limit. It'd been too long since she'd last had another woman touch her, and Brittany could only imagine how sexually frustrated she had to be.

"No more waiting baby," she murmured, lowering herself in between her legs. "I've got you."

Santana looked down at Brittany's head, "God, I need you everywhere." She gripped at the sheet beneath her when Brittany finally licked up her slit, her warm tongue feeling incredible against her sex.

"_Oh_," she breathed out.

Brittany kept her eyes on Santana's face, the familiarity of going down on her rushing back in seconds. She remembered the way Santana gasped when she flattened her tongue and moaned breathily when she made it pointier. She remembered the way Santana's legs spread wider when she was getting closer to her climax, and the way her fingers dug into her hair when she dipped her tongue inside her.

So, when Santana's thighs parted more, Brittany knew she was already close to the edge. It wasn't surprising; it had been a while for her after all; and it only spurred Brittany on. She worked her tongue harder, bringing Santana up with each lick and flick. After a few seconds, she circled her clit slowly, knowing how sensitive it was.

When Santana begged her to make her come, Brittany groaned and crawled back up her body, sucking on her nipples. She dipped her hand in between the darker woman's legs, entering her briskly with two fingers.

"Yes!" Santana whimpered, her pelvis canting up.

"You're so tight," Brittany husked, "so wet."

She pumped her fingers slowly at first, wanting Santana to get used to feeling them inside her. When Santana's whimpers grew more desperate, she withdrew them only to push back in harder, working her faster. She kissed Santana anywhere her lips could reach, sometimes pressing her mouth against her skin the exact same time she drew tighter circles on her clit.

"Britt I'm—"

"Let go baby," Brittany whispered, lifting her head up to look down at Santana. After a few more hard pumps, Santana's back arched and her toes curled, her muscles contracting as she came hard.

Brittany kissed her heaving breasts before crawling back down, softly cleaning Santana's sex with her tongue. After a few seconds she kissed her stomach and then moved to the side. Santana turned around and kissed her shoulder blade.

"Thank you," she murmured quietly, a relaxed smile tugging at her lips.

Brittany smoothed her hand over her neck, pushing away some sweaty strands of hair. "You're so polite after sex."

Santana chuckled, swatting her shoulder gently. "Shut up."

"Okay I take it back," Brittany grinned. She kissed her forehead before trailing back down to her jaw and then her lips. "Get some rest, honey."

"Mhm... I love when you call me that..." Santana closed her eyes tiredly, her muscles feeling like cotton as she unwound completely. She felt so comfortable, and it only took a few seconds for her breath to even out. Brittany smiled before she pulled the bed cover over them and rested her left arm on Santana's waist.

* * *

Later in the evening, Santana's eyes opened slowly, slightly perturbed by the sliver of light coming from the door. Surely enough, the small corridor was lit and the door ajar. Santana blinked a couple of times before she turned around and noticed the spot next to her was empty. Intrigued, she got up and grabbed one of Brittany's oversized t-shirts from her dresser. It barely covered her ass and looked more like a garbage bag than an actual t-shirt, but Santana figured it would do for a trip downstairs.

As she walked down the padded stairs, she spotted Brittany near the couch in the living room, wearing short shorts and a grey tank top. Her ears quickly picked up on her hushed voice.

"—said no. I can't rewrite it, it's just wrong."

Santana furrowed her eyebrows. She didn't know if she should be intruding, but she was getting cold and Brittany seemed agitated. Quietly, she walked up to her and wrapped her arms around her waist from behind, smiling when Brittany jumped.

"I—I'll call you b-back," Brittany fumbled, ending the call abruptly.

How odd, Santana thought...

"Work?" She asked, kissing Brittany's back softly. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt."

Brittany swallowed nervously as she dropped the phone on the couch and turned around in Santana's arms.

"N-no, no, it's okay. You just took me by surprise." She kissed her quickly, still fidgeting nervously.

Santana frowned. "Hey you okay? You're trembling."

Brittany released a shaky breath; she knew she hadn't said anything that would have clued Santana in, but lying to her face still made her queazy.

"Y-yeah I'm fine. It um, it was just my boss updating me on some stuff."

"It's pretty late for work calls... Is it something bad?" Santana asked, confused as to why Brittany was so jittery.

"No. Just... articles and news. Let's just go back to bed?"

Santana looked at her quizzically before she slowly nodded. She took her hand in hers and entwined their fingers, her heart skipping a beat when Brittany's thumb softly brushed against her skin. When they climbed back into bed, Santana crawled on top of Brittany, smiling mischievously.

"What are you looking at?" Brittany murmured.

Santana chuckled, "Isn't it obvious?"

"Well I dunno', it's kind of dark."

"Mm... okay. I'm perving on your neighbor through the drapes."

Brittany laughed. "You mean Mrs. Nunez? Didn't know fifty year-old women were your type..."

"Well you know me, I'm an equal opportunist."

"Really? So if a nice guy came up to you and—"

"Oh hell no," Santana groaned, nuzzling Brittany's neck. "You know what I meant."

Brittany chuckled contentedly, loving the way Santana's body fit with hers. She hesitated a second before she trailed her hands under her t-shirt, caressing her back lazily.

"Mmm, that feels nice," Santana sighed.

Brittany nodded silently, her hands traveling up and down the smooth expanse of skin. She used to love this so much; just laying in the dark with Santana, talking about nothing and everything, flirting, teasing, cuddling... It was easy to remember why.

"I missed this," she whispered, starring at the dark ceiling.

Santana shifted against her and held her head up, looking down at Brittany with an inquisitive gaze. She'd missed everything about this too, but something was bothering her. Brittany had acted so indecisive only a few days ago; she wondered what changed her mind.

"I missed this, too. So much..." She trailed on. "But Britt, I... I hope you understand this isn't just, um, casual to me. I mean... I know I acted like a horndog and all but you're more than just sex, you know that right?"

Brittany smiled at Santana's rambling, the sweet and shy tone of her voice so uncharacteristic of her. She kissed the frown on her forehead away and nuzzled her nose with hers. "You are too cute."

Santana groaned, "Cute is not what I was going for, Britt."

"I know, but still."

"Anyway," Santana sighed, "I guess I'm asking if... maybe you'd like to go out with me?"

Brittany's eyebrows shot up, "You want us to date?"

Unsure of Brittany's reaction, Santana felt her heart pound in dread. "I m-mean, if you'd like to... I just figured—"

"I'd love to."

"... yeah?"

"Totally. It's just, I was kinda' under the impression we already were. What with the sex and all," Brittany teased, pinching Santana's side lightly.

"Sex is not dat—ugh you know what, you'll be the death of me, I thought you were shooting me down again."

Brittany bit her lip. "About that..."

"Don't worry," Santana kissed her briefly, "You had your reasons."

Smiling softly, Brittany pulled Santana into her. "C'mere," she said.

Santana grinned before she kissed her full on the mouth, their giggles dissipating into the night.

* * *

It'd been two days since they last saw each other and Santana was still on a blissful high. She already missed Brittany but they'd been texting back and forth constantly, and their promise of a date this Saturday was making her feel like a teenage girl. She hadn't dated in a long while, and the thought of spending that time with Brittany only added to her excitement. Working at the restaurant had been particularly stressful these past few weeks, so unwinding and enjoying herself fully was exactly what Santana needed.

As she cleaned her station and said goodbye to a few members of her staff, Santana noticed Kurt's head peaking from the door. He spotted her immediately and walked towards her, only turning around when Mercedes waved goodbye.

"Did Marley and Sunshine leave already?" Santana asked him. She'd wanted to apologize to them for a while now, remembering how overbearing she'd been after first hearing news of the food critic coming soon.

Kurt nodded, "Yeah."

Santana took her hat off and started unbuttoning her jacket. "Oh well." She looked up at the headwaiter. "What's up?"

"I have some good news and some bad news."

Sighing, Santana set her hat on her station. "Go ahead."

"Well, apparently there's been some pretty crispy drama up at Cuisine's headquarters," Kurt announced mischievously.

Santana arched an eyebrow, "Yeah?"

"Mh-hm, Rachel Berry had a little preview of Spite's review. And let me tell you, it left a sour taste in her mouth."

"Her mom actually showed it to her?"

"Yup. Rachel begged her so hard she caved in and showed her a snippet. She was furious. Threw a fit and stamped her feet—Jesse said he thought Shelby would pop that vein on her forehead."

"God, why are you friends with these people again?" Santana asked.

Kurt shrugged, "They provide gossip and are wildly entertaining. But anyway, I hear Spite might have to rewrite her review for _LuPones_."

"Rewrite it completely? That's crazy! What does Berry want? A eulogy?"

"Some variation of that, yes."

"Ugh. I knew I'd hate that arrogant troll somewhere down the line."

"Well—"

"Wait hold up. Does that mean she'll get a whole spread? _The_ spot?"

Kurt paused, obviously trying to find the right words. He knew Santana wanted more than a review, she wanted the coveted rubric of "best up-and-comers". She wanted the lavish praise and the great publicity. She wanted the restaurant to be recognized and its popularity to boom. It wasn't exactly surprising; what new restaurateur wouldn't want that?

"That's... a possibility."

Santana clenched her fists and groaned. "No. No that's not fair. Kurt, she's not playing fair! Who does she think she is asking for a well-known critic to rewrite a damn article. It's just so—"

Santana cut herself off, something in her sentence suddenly calling to her.

"Rewrite it," she murmured, rolling the words on her tongue, racking her brain to try and remember why they sounded so familiar, and why she felt like her blood had turned into lead and why—

—oh why. She chocked on air. She remembered this Tuesday; she remembered walking down the stairs of Brittany's house with a clouded mind. She remembered Brittany whispering she couldn't rewrite _it_. That it would be wrong?

That couldn't be true, Santana reasoned, feeling her throat close up and her hands shake. Brittany was terrible at lying, she could have never kept a secret like that. Yet... yet it did make sense, didn't it? The chef shook her head in disbelief, her nose scrunching as she frowned. She looked so terribly confused, like a lost child in a supermarket.

Now that the thought was planted in her mind, there was nothing she could do to stop it. Was she just freaking out for nothing? Maybe she was tired. It was getting late, and with Brittany constantly on her mind, perhaps she was starting to mix things up. Yet... everything clicked, all the pieces fit. Christ, everything was so conveniently coincidental that Santana was close to punching herself. Brittany had stepped back into her life, and only a few days later Santana had learned that Susan Spite would review Adjacent. Brittany had said she'd write a review for her... but why? Why would she have lied yet again? Out of pity? Maybe she'd felt bad after Santana had shown up on doorstep, soaked and needy. Maybe she'd felt remorse for turning Santana into a nervous wreck, an agitated mess.

But she worked at the Culi Mag. She'd always worked there, that wasn't a lie. She had hated it sure... and now that she thought about it, Santana couldn't imagine her staying there for so many years... but Brittany had told her she'd been promoted, that the working conditions had improved. Had she lied about that too? There was no way. And Santana knew how Brittany wrote, she was quirky as hell and always humorous. Her writing was nothing like Spite's reviews. Sure it had been a couple of years since Santana had read anything from Brittany, and Spite did have a rather peculiar style at times... but that didn't mean... it didn't _have_ to mean that—

Brittany... Brittany... the name danced around her mind, taunting her.

Brittany...

Brittany _Susan_ Pierce.

God! Santana wanted to scream.

* * *

**AN:** I feel ya', Santana.

Thanks for the amazing support guys :)


	8. Chapter 8

**Your feedback for chapter 7 was so incredible I decided to get my ass in gear and post this sooner :) It's shorter, but heavy. Hope you enjoy it!**

* * *

Brittany was on cloud nine. She'd just been on the phone with her good friend Sugar, and the woman had set up everything perfectly for Saturday. Sugar owned a small but charming movie theater that Brittany adored. It was cosy and warm, and, most of all, it didn't smell like buttery popcorn and cheese stains. Now Brittany was no snob, and she liked deliciously greasy snacks as much as the next person, but for her date night with Santana, she wanted something a bit more... refined.

She'd set the night perfectly. At 6PM, Santana would knock on her door with one of her signature smiles, and Brittany's heart would skip a beat. She'd pull her inside, finding it impossible to ignore her impulse to kiss the gorgeous woman, and she'd set her hands on her hips. She'd whisper, "Hey, you," and Santana would kiss her on the mouth, just at the corner to tease her.

Then Brittany would offer Santana's favorite: crackers, cheese, pâté and olives. They'd snack and chat comfortably, talking about anything that came to mind, and eventually they'd make their way to Brittany's bedroom, where she planned to massage Santana sensually. She knew the chef would be stressed from a long day—especially since she didn't usually work on Saturdays—and Brittany was only too happy to help her unwind. She remembered how much she loved feeling Santana's muscles loosen up under the tip of her fingers, so she was particularly excited for that part of the evening. Just thinking about Santana's small sighs and moans had her yearning for the day to come sooner.

Later on, when Santana would be so relaxed she'd grin like the Cheshire cat and act all playful, Brittany would invite her to a private screening of _Big Fish, _the film they'd popped in before sharing their first kiss. It was a cheesy thing to do, which was exactly the point. It'd been a while since Brittany had the chance to plan a nice date, and the fact that it was with Santana just set the bar higher.

Before calling Sugar, Brittany had also finished something she was very excited about. Her review for _Adjacent_ was the fastest one she'd ever written. Not because she'd botched it, but because she had never been so sure of her opinion. Once she'd sat down and started typing yesterday evening, she hadn't been able to stop. Usually Brittany took her time to go over the pros and cons of a menu, or the details of the service, but everything about Santana's restaurant was engrained in her mind. It was invigorating to write so passionately, and it reminded Brittany of her first reviews.

She'd let her playful side come out in the review, and it showed. Of course she remained professional overall, but it was clear she'd enjoyed writing it. Compared to the pain of reviewing _LuPones, _this had been a very delicious piece of cake. Thinking about it, Brittany couldn't believe the nerve of Rachel Berry. Complaining to her mother about a lukewarm review didn't exactly please Brittany. Shelby had tried to persuade her to at least change a paragraph or two, but Brittany explained she was incapable of writing anything but the truth. _LuPones_ was extravagant and pricey, and it'd be unfair to her readers to omit those important details. Brittany also knew Shelby agreed with her, but her daughter had a knack for making things difficult.

Either way, the review would be printed as it was. It wasn't a bad one at all—though certainly not the best either—and it would hopefully teach Rachel Berry that she wouldn't get anything by stamping her feet. In this business, that would bring her nothing but derision.

After she'd cleaned the kitchen table and thought about taking a bath, Brittany was caught off guard by a loud bang coming from the doorway. Someone was pounding on the door repeatedly, making it rattle noisily, and, briefly, she wondered if she should grab her phone to call the cops.

"Brittany fucking Pierce you open this door right now!"

Brittany frowned, recognizing Santana's voice over the rain. She walked to the door quickly, swinging it open.

"S-santana, what—what happened to your hair?" Was the first thing she managed to say.

Santana walked into the house like a wild furry, her dark hair sticking out everywhere, curly in places and tangled in others. Rain had never been her best friend. She moved to the living room, only to trip when Lord Tubbington slumped in front of her.

"Move, you fucking lard!" She snapped.

Brittany gaped, completely taken aback by Santana's foul mood. Her cat was now trailing his tail pathetically, moving to the kitchen. Brittany frowned when Santana threw her purse on the couch. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

Santana's eyes darkened. "What the hell is wrong with me?" Her voice pitched. "What the hell is wrong with _you_!"

"What did I—"

"Oh just fucking say it already!" Santana spat. "Say you've been lying to my face! That you've been playing me for a fucking idiot!"

Brittany felt her heart stop and her blood turn icy. What was Santana—

"No,_ no_..." she whispered, now feeling like she was going to pass out. Santana knew. She _knew. _But how?

"Well?" Santana insisted.

Brittany tried forming the words, anything, but her mouth felt like cotton. Her heart was pounding so loudly she feared Santana would hear it. What could she say? The chef's gaze was cutting into her, making her stumble back.

"I'm—I—I d-don't—"

Santana screamed in frustration, infuriated that Brittany seemed incapable to own up to her charade. She tried calming herself down, but to no avail. Just seeing Brittany cowering away confirmed the worst.

"Don't you dare stay silent," she bristled. "You don't get to toy with my fucking feelings for weeks and then play mute!"

"I'm not!" Brittany chocked out.

"You know," she fumed, "I must be really clueless to you."

"No! You're not, I swea—"

"I mean," Santana cut her off, pacing in the living room, "there I was, complaining about this woman over and over again, telling you it was driving me insane. But you... oh you were just having a fucking ball!"

Brittany's heart thudded when she noticed Santana's face. She was trying hard to hide that she was crying, wiping her cheeks every five second, but it still made Brittany ache. She was hurting deeply, and the blonde had no words to comfort her. Paralyzed, she was still trying to wrap her head around what was happening. _Santana knows_, she couldn't help but hear.

"It didn't—I wasn't—" Brittany trailed on, wishing she could shake the right words out of herself. But she was completely stuck, observing Santana in a desperate manner. What was Santana thinking? Why was she pacing, not even sparing Brittany a glance? It was so out of character for her to do that, but Brittany realized this wasn't the same Santana she'd once been in a relationship with. This was a more mature Santana—as angry as she was, her way of confronting Brittany was staggeringly different.

Suddenly, she stopped. She took a deep breath and walked towards Brittany, backing her into the wall. Brittany felt the hard, cold surface behind her, making her swallow loudly. Even in anger, Santana was mesmerizing. She was a mess, shaking angrily, but she was still the most beautiful woman she had ever seen. But now, with her eyes so dark and her gaze so sharp, Brittany was very afraid. She knew Santana would never, ever lay a hand on her, but her words were a vicious weapon that had the blonde feeling very nervous.

"Brittany," Santana said, her tone dangerously even, "I want to hear it from you. I want you to say the words."

Brittany swallowed nervously. "I'm... I..."

Santana stared at her, unmoving, so close she made it hard to breathe.

"...I'm Susan Spite," Brittany quietly admitted.

After a beat, Santana let out a shaky breath. As if her anger had just poured out of her, she turned around silently, walking towards the couch before sitting down. "You lied to me," she whispered. "Over and over, you just... lied."

Brittany stayed against the wall, not daring to move. "I w-wanted to tell you. I mean... not before the review was out, but... I never thought everything would spiral down so fast. You were never supposed to know someone would review your restaurant."

"So that excuses everything?" Santana snapped.

"No! Of course not. I—I just meant that... I knew I loved your food so I... I thought it would be nice to feature you in the magazine. Like a surprise... but somehow you found out a critic would come and I... I panicked, Santana. I didn't know how to tell you, or even if I should... but you were so anxious over it, it was killing me—"

"Oh I'm so sorry Brittany," Santana rolled her eyes, "how tormenting for you."

Brittany looked down, feeling so small. "I never meant to hurt you."

Santana snorted. After a while, the room fell silent. Brittany didn't know what to say; she knew she was to blame, and Santana had every right to be mad.

"Look I... I was going to send the review to my boss tomorrow. But... if you want Jesse St. James to cover it, I'll underst—"

"Of course I want St. James. What did you think, Brittany? That'd I'd come running to you all happy? That I'd think, 'well gee, this works for the best, now I'm guaranteed to have the spot in the magazine'. Do you believe I'm that fucking shallow?"

Brittany shook her head fervently. "I never believed th—"

_Snap! _

Brittany looked over to Santana, eyebrows furrowing at the sound. She noticed how she was toying with the rubber band around her wrist, something she used to calm herself down. Brittany always hated it. Santana would resort to it when she was angry or anxious; some sort of trick to associate those feelings with pain and attempt to keep them at bay. The snap of the rubber on her wrist was supposed to help her regain focus, but it was completely nonsensical to Brittany. Why would she hurt herself like that?

"You still have that thing..."

Santana didn't respond, her fingers pulling at the rubber mindlessly. After a minute, she stared at the coffee table blankly.

"You know... after we broke up," she managed to say, "I promised myself that if ever... if ever we got back together, I would always try to communicate better with you. That I'd—" she cut herself off, choking on her words.

The broken sound set Brittany into motion. She walked towards Santana and kneeled in front of her, grabbing her fidgety hands. Santana pulled back, but stayed in place.

"I was wrong," Brittany said. "I was wrong to keep the truth from you, but I_ have_ to keep Susan a secret, or else the whole point of my job just goes out the window. Santana... I never once lied about the rest. When I broke up with you... when I walked away, I knew it was the best thing to do for both of us. Come on S, you remember how it was... w-we were hurting each other so badly. But now, I—I know I want to do anything I can to be with y—"

"Stop," Santana cut her off. "You have no right to say that. Not now."

Brittany felt her stomach twist when the chef grabbed her purse and got up. She scrambled to get up as well, fearing that the woman was leaving.

"You know," Santana said, turning around, "it's funny how you used to say you couldn't stand me hurting you so much. But... twice, twice you're the one breaking my heart."

Brittany flinched, "I'm sorry, you have to beli—"

"You know what? You were right. We haven't changed. We're not good for each other. This," she said, motioning from herself to Brittany, "is poison."

Brittany recoiled, the words cutting deep into her. "Y-you don't mean that."

Santana looked to the side, incapable to bear the look on Brittany's face. Her jaw clenched as she realized what she had just implied. She knew her words were only partially true—they _had_ matured. But somehow here they were, hurting all over again. The weight on her chest was unbearable, just looking at Brittany made it hard to breathe.

"Maybe I don't," she murmured. "But baby, I can't take any of this anymore. It hurts so bad, I feel like—like it's a constant battle. Like the anger, and t-the lies just overshadow the rest. I used to think it was worth it, that it didn't matter because underneath it all we were happy. But_ this_..." she frowned sadly, "this isn't worth it. I don't want to fight with you anymore. It's just too tiring."

Brittany stayed silent. She felt heavy and lightheaded at the same time, and her feet were refusing to budge. She wished she could move towards Santana and brush her thumb over the tear tracks on her cheeks, but she also knew she had fucked up. She'd fucked up so bad she had no right to try to calm Santana. The chef had every reason to be upset, and Brittany knew it.

When she opened her mouth but no sound came out, Santana shifted in place. "Look I... I just need time away from... all of this. I need to focus on the restaurant, and you need to focus on... whatever it is Susan Spite does."

Taken aback by Santana's sullen tone, Brittany started panicking. She knew what 'taking time' usually meant in a relationship—if that was what they had—and the idea of losing Santana now made her feel sick. "Santana—"

"Don't," the chef shook her head, "please Britt, just... let it go. Please."

Brittany knew what she meant by that; stubborn as they both were, it was rare for them to ever let go of an argument. The final word was something they both always fought for; it was a selfish need that Brittany knew she had to relinquish. Santana needed her to accept her decision. She looked so tired, so defeated, it was killing Brittany that she was the cause for it.

After a beat, she conceded. "Okay."

Santana nodded and turned around, only stopping herself when she had the entrance door opened. "For what it's worth," she said, "I think you're an amazing writer."

Brittany let out a small whimper, watching as the woman she'd hurt shut the door behind her. She waited a minute, maybe an hour, she wasn't even sure, before she walked back to the couch and slumped on it, burying her head into one of the throw pillows. After a few minutes she felt Lord Tubbington crawling on her back, lounging on her as she groaned miserably. Somehow she imagined he was looking down on her with contempt, ready to claw some sense into her, but he didn't purr a word. Brittany would have usually asked him to move—he was no small kitten after all—but his mass was nothing next to the weight of her guilt. She'd started off the day with Saturday on her mind, but now it only reminded her of how badly she'd screwed up.

Brittany wasn't sure she could ever forgive herself for bringing so much disappointment into Santana's life.

* * *

**AN: **Aww, Britt. I just want to give her ten fuzzy puppies to hug.

One more chapter and then the epilogue, but don't fret, this was as angsty as it gets! Next chapter should be the longest one yet. Thanks for your wonderful reviews :)


	9. Chapter 9

**Hi guys, I'm really sorry for the wait. It's been a rough couple of weeks. I hope you'll enjoy this last chapter! **

* * *

It was Saturday morning and Brittany was miserable. She'd barely slept since Santana left on Thursday night, her back was aching in places she never knew existed, her head was throbbing and her heart felt like a heavy rock. Cliché as it was, she hadn't been able to sleep in her own bed since one of the pillows still smelled like Santana's shampoo, and she was too tired to fix herself something decent to eat. The couch was so uncomfortable Brittany had made a note to buy a new one once she got out of her funk, and for now she survived on crackers and tap water.

As she munched on saltines and starred at the television blankly, Brittany couldn't help but wonder what Santana was doing. It was torturous to imagine her either sad or angry, but Brittany felt she deserved to feel guilty.

However, another part of her wasn't so sure, and for that, Brittany felt even more awful.

On the one hand, Santana had every right to be upset. She'd opened up to the blonde about her deep anxiety and fears regarding the future of her restaurant, while Brittany responded with new lies to cover her identity and the fact she was the very source of Santana's problems. She had trusted Brittany completely, while Brittany had proved she didn't trust Santana with her secret. It was hurtful and a slap in the face. Santana had probably thought she could allow herself to be vulnerable with the blonde, only to later discover she was the only honest one in their complex relationship.

But on the other hand, Brittany just _had _to keep Susan a secret. It wasn't just for personal reasons—such as her preferring to work anonymously, contrary to other critics like her colleague Jesse St. James—but her whole career was at stake here. Susan Spite wasn't just a good food critic because she knew every in and out of the industry, or because her writing was witty and deeply honest. She was loved by her readers because she was a hidden persona. There was a whole world of questions behind her, and her name in the industry inspired respect and motivation to surpass oneself. There was no face associated to her name, no way to judge or see her as anything but a renowned critic.

Brittany saw how St. James used his name in his favor—he didn't even have to_ try_ to be good, people who knew him the minute he stepped into a restaurant would immediately be on their best behavior for him. They wined and dined him like the wealthiest of kings. They offered free appetizers_ just because_ and presented him with their most succulent dishes and deserts. Jesse was still a good food critic, that much Brittany knew, but the waiters and chefs knowing him meant they would serve him _better_ than anyone else. And that, was exactly what Brittany wanted to stay away from.

She didn't want to be treated like a queen. She didn't want the waiter to observe her every move in order to gauge if she was comfortable and pleased every five minute. She didn't want the comfiest chair in the room or the finest wine in the cellar. She didn't want the meal she ordered to be presented to her differently than it was to any other customer.

Being a privileged customer meant she'd be a biased critic. Brittany had too much integrity to work that way. Who was she to be treated better than any other person? Waiters and chefs should be on their best behavior for anyone in the room, not just for the person in charge of their restaurant's publicity and success. Or at least, that's what Brittany believed in.

If she were to ever tell Santana who she was, and what she did, she could never know for sure if Marley was being overly sweet to her because she was a critic, or because she was just another customer. She could never be sure if Kurt smiled joyfully at _Susan_ or at Brittany. She couldn't know for certain if Mercedes Jones' deserts were just scrumptious on any given day, or if she had surpassed herself just for her. If she had told Santana, it's possible _Adjacent_ would have suddenly revolved around her instead of everyone in the dining room.

She trusted Santana with her secret of course, and she knew the chef would never tell anyone else in the industry, but, nevertheless, Brittany had planned to confess after the review was out. It would have been no use to do so before.

And this, this was something Brittany knew she had to tell Santana.

With this last impulsive thought in mind, Brittany got up from the couch and moved towards her desk. She sat down in front of her computer and keyboard, but grabbed a pen instead. She wanted this letter to be completely genuine, and writing it instead of typing felt right.

After an hour or so, she read her entire letter and nodded to herself. She had taken her time to get things exactly right, and she didn't leave anything out. Her hand was cramping and her heart still felt heavy, but she knew it was worth it. She wasn't expecting Santana to forgive her immediately, but hopefully she would at least understand her reasons for keeping the truth from her.

Brittany also decided to print out her review for _Adjacent_. It wasn't edited and Shelby hadn't read it yet, but the raw honesty behind her words was there. It was less polished than her usual work, but it was just as genuine.

She slipped the letter and review in a manila envelope—which, granted, looked more professional than personal—and wrote Santana's name in front. Afterwards, she walked up the stairs with renewed vigor, and took a shower to wash off the cracker crumbs in her disheveled hair and the stench of two miserable nights on the couch.

* * *

Once she was in front of _Adjacent_, Brittany wasn't sure what to do. Should she just go in and ask for Santana? Then what? Would she give her the letter and hightail out of the restaurant? Was the chef even in? She didn't work on Saturdays, though she sort of did these past weeks. But this time perhaps she was still at home... Should Brittany just go to her apartment and drop the letter there? It was a bit far, but it would allow her time to think and—

The thought flew out of her mind when she noticed Kurt inside the restaurant. He was walking two men to a table, with his neat tie and courteous smile right in place. Kurt was a great headwaiter and from what Brittany had observed, he got along well with Santana. If she could give him her letter... then surely he'd pass it to chef.

Brittany thought that was as good a plan as any, so she crossed the street and pushed the door to the restaurant. Kurt noticed her quickly, and she waved awkwardly. He smiled and walked over.

"Table for one?" He asked teasingly.

Brittany was surprised he didn't seem to know what was going on, but after a second she realized it wasn't like Santana to share her personal business. Especially since it had only been two days.

"Actually I... I was wondering if you could give something to Santana for me."

His eyebrows raised. "Oh, well she's in the kitchen, do you want me to ca—"

"No!" Brittany cut him off, albeit a bit too loud. She looked around embarrassingly before lowering her voice and taking the envelope out of her purse. "Could you just give this to her when she leaves, please? You guys seem busy and I wouldn't want to disturb her."

Kurt looked at the envelope quizzically, "...Sure."

Brittany smiled in appreciation. "Thanks. I'll... um, see you around."

He nodded, eyes on her as she opened the door and left the restaurant.

* * *

When Santana decided to call it a day and let Holly take over, she felt a sense of dread wash over her. She was going to step outside in a moment, and she'd have to drive back home. There she'd be alone with her thoughts, and she'd have to stop herself from calling Brittany... again.

She had been doing a lot of thinking since Thursday—not to mention she'd cooled down entirely—and she'd admitted to herself she had gone completely overboard. She had been right in confronting Brittany, and discovering the truth did hurt when she had thought Brittany and her were trusting each other again, but she still could have approached things... a bit differently. Perhaps with a more open mind and certainly _after_ her initial reaction. She had said things she didn't mean, and she wished she could take them back.

She had never considered their relationship to be poison, and after mulling it over, she understood how delicate Brittany's situation had been. Exposing herself as Susan could have hurt her career. Santana would have never divulged the information to anyone, but she got why Brittany probably wanted to confess after her review was out.

Still, Brittany had put herself in this situation, so she wasn't blameless either.

This was exactly why Santana desperately wanted to talk to her, but something inside her just pulled her back. She loved her so much that she was ashamed of how rash she had been on Thursday.

"Santana?"

She turned around when she heard Kurt's voice, and, surely enough, he was standing right behind her, large envelope in hand. She frowned curiously, "What's this?"

He paused cautiously. "I don't know exactly. Brittany wanted me to give it to you."

"Brittany? Britt was here? Why didn't you—t-tell me?"

"She didn't to disturb you. She actually left right away."

Santana's face fell. "Oh." Why didn't she stay? They weren't exactly on good terms right now but Santana could have made something quick for her... she knew how much Brittany liked cheese-stuffed jalapenos, or maybe something as simple as deviled eggs.

"Here," Kurt said, extending the envelope. She took it and nodded thankfully, hesitating for just a moment before she walked towards the storage room.

There, she sat down against a wall and opened the envelope, eager to see what it contained. She frowned at the first paper, the one with her restaurant's name on it, but her eyes widened when she realized it was Brittany's review. Quickly, she looked at the other paper.

A letter.

She wasn't sure if a chilly, crappily lit room was the best place to read it, but right now she couldn't give much of a damn.

_Santana,_

_These past few weeks we've rebuilt something I never imagined would happen again. When I broke up with you three years ago, I thought I was setting my heart free. I knew what we had was much too fragile to ever grow. We had sex, good sex, but we also had tears, and fights, and hearts that ached day after day. I know you felt it too—being in love with each other was exhausting. _

_You remember when we met? I was on a date with the most self-centered girl in the world, and you were the waitress with the wicked smile. You flirted with me so shamelessly that at one point my date just got up and left. I only noticed five minutes later—you and I had gotten into a passionate discussion about food. The light in your eyes Santana... it was the most captivating thing. I knew in that moment your dream was _Adjacent_. Or at least more than serving the food prepared by others. You drew me in so quick, and I know I had the same effect on you. It was so easy, just you and me. The aspiring chef and the aspiring writer. _

_We both made it, and I'm so proud._

_But. . . with my dream came a big secret. You know, Susan Spite was initially my boss' idea. She'd just hired me __and I was over the moon.__ I couldn't believe the opportunity, especially after feeling so stuck at the _Culi Mag_. A__fter a few weeks of writing blurbs for different sections of _Cuisine_, Shelby told me she needed another food critic. Jesse St. James was great, but he was a known face and wanted to do other things as well. She needed someone nobody would know, a fresh writer with an anonymous face. Someone that would focus all their energy on going from restaurant to restaurant and come back with a myriad of things to write. I knew the minute she said it: that's what I wanted to do. It was perfect for me. I couldn't believe it! I'd get to stuff my face and write about it? Crazy. _

_Susan Spite isn't just a random persona; she's my whole job. People in the business look up to her, they respect her, they trust her words. _My_ words. I never meant to lie to your face, but then I realized there was no way around it. If someone around you were to know... someone I couldn't trust, then I can't even imagine what the repercussions would be. People would recognize my face, they'd know Susan the minute she stepped into their restaurant, bar or café. I could never do my job the same way. Do you understand what I'm trying to say here?_

_It's crazy you know, words are usually my thing. But with you... my hands can't stop shaking, and the pen keeps slipping from my fingers. But I trust you, I trust you with my heart and with this secret. I know you're angry at me for making you feel so vulnerable, and that was _never_ my intention. That night when you knocked on my door, drenched and tired, you looked so overworked I almost blurted out the truth right then. I'm so sorry honey, I never meant to make you feel that way. You told me you needed me, and I knew then you were asking for comfort, not for an ugly piece of truth. Everything went so fast after that. . . _

_I want you to talk to me, yell at me again if you need to, slap me silly with a dead fish, I don't care. Just tell me how I can fix things. Now I'm the one telling you __I need you. I need you back in my life. I thought breaking up with you the first time was hard, but this? This is killing me. ____I was so wrong._ We **have** changed. We **have** grown. We're not those two dreamers anymore; we're not reckless or naive. I loved you hard and foolishly, but now I love you with everything I have. You were with me before, but now you're a part of me; does that make sense? It's different you know—we never talked too much about the future together. Maybe it's because we knew our relationship wouldn't last, or maybe we just didn't think that far ahead. But now it's all I can think about. 

___Please don't give up on us._

___Love, Brittany_

_PS: __I walked into your restaurant that first day knowing I would love your food, and, each time I went back, I was proved right. There is not one word in that review that I don't mean, and I hope you can understand it was never meant to hurt you in the first place. And, for what it's worth, I think you're an amazing chef._

* * *

~ / ~

* * *

Brittany was in the middle of wrestling Lord Tubbington into his bath when she heard a faint knock downstairs. Right when she was distracted by the sound, he slipped out of her hands and jumped to the ground, not slow to leave the bathroom.

"Really? You crawl like a slug but suddenly you're Speedy Gonzales?"

When the knock persisted, Brittany huffed and quickly went downstairs. Just as she was about to open the front door, however, she froze. It couldn't be... could it? What would she say? What would she _do_? Brittany wasn't sure her heart was ready for another argument.

"Britt," she faintly heard. "I know you're there... please open up."

Swallowing nervously, Brittany opened the door. Santana's eyes met hers immediately, and her shoulders slumped in relief. She knew Santana well, and it didn't seem like she had come to argue. There was a certain softness to her that had Brittany yearning to hold her.

She relented, of course, and instead stepped aside so the chef could come in.

It was awkward since neither had spoken to each other yet, but there was still a lingering familiarity that reassured both of them.

After Brittany closed the door, the silence around them seemed deafening. Santana cleared her throat, not once but twice. "I kind of overreacted..." she mumbled.

Brittany let out a shaky breath, now more at ease. "Well..."

"I just—I—"

"Santana..."

Santana shook her head, knowing she had to get this out. She wouldn't beat around the bush liked she used to before. "It was just—it was frustrating. I thought we were starting fresh, you know? But when I realized you'd hidden so much from me, I kind of... lost it."

Brittany bit her lip. "I hurt you a lot..."

Santana's eyes flickered to the carpet. After a pause, she said, "I... I read your letter."

"Oh?"

"Yeah... it was beautiful, Britt. Thank you."

Brittany fidgeted in place. "And t-the revie—"

"I didn't read it. I trust your words," Santana smiled softly.

Brittany smiled back, albeit hesitantly. "I hope you know I never once thought you'd take advantage of me being Susan. The reason I didn't tell you is that—"

"I know, I know" Santana cut her off. She knew Brittany wasn't the only one who had some apologizing to do, and she'd done enough of that in her letter. "That's the only thing I've been able to think about. And the more I pieced everything together, the more I realized how selfish I'd been. You had every reason to keep the truth from me. I can't believe I thought it was wrong that you didn't compromise your career just for me. It was so..." She clenched her fists, frustrated with herself. "God Britt, when I read your letter I just... I felt..."

She shook her head, annoyed at her inability to find the right words. Brittany had expressed herself with such sincerity, but here she was, incapable of putting her thoughts into words.

Unsurprisingly, Brittany noticed her frustration. "Hey, it's okay," she said, "I think we both clearly didn't handle any of this very well."

Santana chuckled. "You can say that."

Brittany bit her lip, then smiled tentatively. "Um... I was going to make some tea after giving LT his bath, do you want some?"

Santana nodded shyly. "Thanks, Britt."

* * *

After Brittany made the tea and Santana took her coat and shoes off, they both sat on the couch, sipping the hot beverage carefully. They hadn't talked much but Santana felt like she would blurt out everything on her heart in a second. It was maddening to be so close to Brittany yet so far. They were being cordial and she hated it; their relationship had always been about closeness and comfort. It wasn't usually so awkward and tense, and both women were trying to find ways to break the ridiculous silence. Santana had wanted to say a million things after she read Brittany's letter in the storage room, yet here she was staying mute.

Finally, when their eyes met for the tenth time, and Brittany smiled again, Santana couldn't take it anymore. "I love you," she blurted out, eyes widening as she heard herself. It was too late to backtrack however, and her heart was beating annoyingly fast. "It kind of pisses me off."

Brittany inhaled sharply, both surprised by Santana's confession and revolted she hadn't said it first. "Yeah? Well I—I love you so much it drives me insane. You're everywhere I go, you're in my head—it's crazy. You're crazy! With your rubber snaps a-and your King Kong ego and your stupid, stupid smile—"

"Hey," Santana interjected, "I thought we banned the usage of 'stupid' in this relationship."

Brittany frowned. "This is not a relationship you goose, this is a crazy house."

Santana blinked, her lips curving into a smile. "Goose?"

Brittany frowned, taken aback by the sudden mood change. "...What?"

"You called me a goose."

"W-well, you are. You're stubborn and you talk loud and—"

"Britt?"

"Um?"

"Do you love me?"

"Do I love you? What kind of question is that? What did I just say? You have everything—my heart, my body, I—"

"Baby..." Santana sighed.

Brittany swallowed back the end of her sentence. "Of course I love you."

Santana set her tea on the coffee table and shuffled closer to Brittany. "Well that's all we need right now. I know we have our issues, and I know it won't always be peachy, because, well... it's _us_, and it's me, and I can get fired up pretty quickly," she rolled her eyes with a smile, "but I'm... I'm ready for it. I want the good, and the bad too. I want all that gooey stuff, and I want it with you. Now call me cheesy if you want, but I'm a chef, and I love me some cheese. So."

Brittany laughed as she set her tea on the table as well. She took Santana's hands in hers and pulled her towards her. "You're a huge dork, you know that?"

"But a smooth dork, right?"

Brittany feigned wonderment. "Hmm... you're getting there."

They chuckled together before their eyes locked and Brittany smirked. "Hey, your lips look kinda lonely..."

Santana laughed heartily. "Ohhh now _that_ was smooth."

Brittany shrugged her shoulders, "I didn't want you to feel bad."

They smiled at each other before Brittany took on a more serious tone. "I'm not going anywhere, Santana. You and I... I think sometimes we make no sense, but it's kinda perfect you know? You're like... my other half."

"The apple to my pie..." Santana crooned playfully.

Brittany grinned, then searched for another example. "The... ah... cat to my milk."

Santana's nose scrunched up. "That's kinda weird."

"Yeah I know, I don't know where that came from."

"Well, whatever. Kiss me?"

Brittany smiled widely before she pressed her lips against Santana's. Soon Brittany had the chef straddling her, their kisses turning messy and wet as their chuckles turned into laughter.

* * *

When Brittany woke up early the morning after, it was to the smooth expanse of Santana's back and the curve of her ass. With a lazy smile, her eyes lingered from bottom to top, noticing the very light scratch mark on Santana's left butt cheek, and, further up, the way her dark hair hid the most of her shoulders, like a curtain of black curls and shine. Brittany wanted to bury her nose in the crook of her neck, take in the lingering smell of sex, but Santana looked so peaceful and deep in slumber, she settled for a sweet kiss on her spine.

Santana stirred a bit, but didn't wake. Brittany smiled and settled on her back, starring at the ceiling. Yesterday had felt like a whirlwind. She couldn't believe her and Santana had jumped back into bed so quickly—and she was certainly not complaining—but then again, if they hadn't, she would have been quite surprised. They were never the type to wait, and Brittany knew there was nothing wrong with that. It wasn't that their relationship was mostly about sex, but they had always had a deep need to express their feelings physically.

They both were sexual people, and together they just clicked. Their connection was only so much deeper, and they understood each other perfectly. These last days had been so tiring and emotionally charged that it felt incredible to find release in each other's arms.

Brittany couldn't help but grin. Perhaps Saturday night hadn't gone how she had initially planned, but it had still ended with her and Santana together, and for that she was grateful. Taken over by a surge of emotions, she turned over and kissed Santana again. The chef stirred more and eventually rolled on her back, mumbling something incoherent.

Brittany nibbled her ear before kissing down her neck and collarbone. Finally, she kissed her nipples, puckered from the morning cold. Santana hummed softly, eyes still closed, but Brittany knew she was awake. She pressed her lips against hers, coaxing her to respond as she caressed her side. Soon, they were kissing lazily, lips smacking occasionally as they smiled against each other's mouths. Santana tried to say something but her voice was too husky from sleep, so, instead, she settled for a small giggle.

Brittany couldn't resist. She sucked her nipple as she dipped her fingers in between Santana's legs, stroking her softly. Moaning, Santana parted her legs more and beckoned for Brittany to kiss her. Their tongues found each other quickly, but when Brittany entered her with two fingers, thrusting slowly inside her, Santana couldn't help but start panting.

Soon their kisses got sloppy and the slick sound of Brittany's fingers inside her had Santana moaning loudly. Brittany smiled, enthralled by the sound.

"_Mhm yes_," Santana sighed out.

Knowing Santana was already close to her peak, Brittany added a third finger, her lips still a hair's breadth away from Santana's. She groaned when the chef's nails dug into her back, but thankfully they were short enough not to hurt. Still, Brittany knew she wouldn't be against Santana marking her; especially when it was proof she got her in a delicious frenzy.

"Are you gonna come?" Brittany husked breathily, still focused on Santana's face. She was so warm around her fingers, so slick and tight. Her eyes were shut closed and her mouth agape—panting incoherent words as she felt the pressure between her legs tighten so much more.

"So good, _uh_," she moaned, "P-please."

Brittany hummed contentedly, her own breath ragged as she worked her fingers harder, pumping faster into the beautiful woman beneath her. She looked so wild, so savage, riddled with pleasure like this, that it was hard for Brittany to stop grinding against the bed, each brush of the sheet against her core sending jolts across her body.

"You're so beautiful," she gently said. "Let me see you come."

Santana cried out as she felt Brittany's warm breath so close to her ear. Her whole body tightened as she came hard on Brittany's fingers, the rush of her orgasm so intense she felt tears prickle at her eyes.

"Britt—Brittany—baby..." she panted.

"I'm here," Brittany soothed, peppering kisses on Santana's neck and cheeks as she brought her down gently, fingers still inside her but moving slowly. After the last ripples of Santana's orgasm, she pulled out gently. Santana opened her eyes slowly.

"That was amazing," she sighed happily, smiling when Brittany kissed the freckle on her shoulder.

"Hm-mmm..."

Santana laughed, turning her head into the pillow so it was muffled. Amused, Brittany stared at her.

"What is it? Do I smell funny?"

"N-no," Santana chuckled. After a second, she stared back at Brittany and bit her lip. "It's just... I'm really happy right now."

Brittany grinned, "I'm really happy, too." She smiled down at Santana, almost delirious, and kissed her lips before trailing down her jaw and neck. When Santana's head tilted to the side, Brittany placed a sweet kiss on her collarbone.

"You're spoiling me," Santana playfully said.

Brittany smirked against her breast. She took a nipple in her mouth, sucking languidly until it went stiff again. After Santana groaned, she paused and kissed the small mole on her breast.

"It's so sexy," Brittany sighed.

Santana looked down at the head of blonde hair and chuckled. "It's just a mole, silly girl."

Brittany looked at Santana with an arched eyebrow, "This silly girl just made you come... really hard."

The chef blushed, though hopefully her lover wouldn't notice it. "W-well, you didn't even give me a fighting chance."

"You're saying you wouldn't have come if you'd been less... asleep?" Brittany smirked.

Santana frowned. "I'm saying you'd be the one with your legs wide open and your moans waking the neighbors."

Brittany gasped mockingly, "You? Overpower me? My my, call the media, we've got ourselves some breaking news."

"Why are you being like this?"

"Like what?" Brittany laughed. "Oh my god Santana, are you actually getting upset over me making you come first?"

Santana relented, hearing how ridiculous she was being. She folded her arms under her chest and looked at the side, pouting. "No..." she protested weakly.

Knowing how stubborn Santana could get, Brittany chose to let her brood for just a little bit more. She lay down next to her, head on her shoulder and lips just inches away from her ear, and waited a couple more seconds before smiling wickedly.

"I am so wet for you right now. Fingering you drives me insane," she husked.

Santana's eyes popped open. She shifted slightly, feeling Brittany's warm breath tickle her ear. "Y-yeah?"

"Mh-mm..." Brittany nodded. "All I want, is you inside me."

Santana shivered. "Tongue?"

Brittany shook her head.

"Fingers?"

Brittany smirked, shaking her head again.

After a few seconds, Santana moaned. "You are so dirty." She lifted herself up, looking intently at the blonde. "Where do you keep it?"

Brittany nodded to the closet. "Same place as always, baby."

In a blur of movements, Santana managed to jump out of bed, rush to the closet, grab the box she still remembered, and take out a light blue dildo and its darker harness.

Brittany, now on her back and watching Santana intently, trailed her fingers to her core. "Put it on," she said.

Santana almost lost her mind when Brittany started slowly circling her entrance, but quickly did as she was told. After a few minutes, the harness was rubbing against her in the most sinful way, and the dildo was finally in place. She walked back to the bed and kissed Brittany's quivering thighs, moaning at the sight of her wet core.

"You really are soaked," she said in awe.

When Brittany groaned, Santana moved so she was settled in between her thighs. Brittany closed her eyes briefly when the tip of the dildo rutted into her, barely brushing against her clit.

Santana smiled deviously, pressing the head slightly harder and moving it in tight circles. "Tell me what you want," she ordered.

Brittany moaned, "Just—take me Santana, no games."

Santana smirked as she looked at Brittany with obvious satisfaction. She was enraptured by the beauty beneath her, and overjoyed that they could finally re-explore their sex life. She loved her more than anything, and she was content in cuddling or simply eating breakfast with her, but it would be lying to say she hadn't missed the sex. Now that they were so open about their feelings, it was ten times more satisfying, which was saying a lot.

"San," Brittany breathed out, "please baby. Come back to me."

Santana shook her head, obviously in a daze. She smiled softly at Brittany and kissed her knee, snapping herself out of her thoughts. After she let go of her thighs, she leaned down to kiss her stomach. She dipped her tongue into her navel but Brittany groaned at the wet sensation, now too wound up to appreciate the slow burn. Gently but firmly, she gripped Santana's shoulders when her mouth started kissing down her soft mound. "No honey, please…"

Santana lifted her head and her eyebrows furrowed, wondering what caused Brittany to stop her from reaching her sweet sex.

"I want you to lay on me," Brittany rasped, "and slip that thing inside me. Make love to me, just like that."

Santana shivered at the sweet, torturous words. Swiftly, she traced Brittany's slit with the head of the dildo and pressed on her most sensitive spot. When Brittany's thighs quivered and her eyes fluttered, she nudged her folds apart and slowly slipped the tip in, inching herself deeper as Brittany muffled a moan into her pillow.

"O-oh yes…"

"Are you sure you don't me to use lube," Santana suddenly remembered, "I don't want to hurt y—"

"No," Brittany protested, "just, just come here. Hold me."

Santana complied wordlessly, pushing the fake member in deeper as she lay over Brittany. She peppered loving kisses from her breasts to her neck and forehead, letting Brittany get used to the penetration.

Finally, she gave a tentative push of her hips, smiling when the blonde moaned and her eyes fluttered shut. Slowly, she pulled back out, eyes lingering on every inch of perfect skin beneath her. Brittany shuddered as she looked at Santana, so beautiful and unabashed. Sneakily, she managed to cup her breasts, brushing her thumbs over dusky nipples.

Santana's thrusts picked up speed at the sensation, and quickly she lowered her head to slip her tongue inside Brittany's eager mouth. They kissed for what felt like ages, but Santana had to break the moment so she could drive the dildo deeper and harder into Brittany.

"_Uh_," the blonde breathed out, her eyes fighting to stay open as her body writhed.

"You're _so_ sexy," Santana rasped, working her hips faster, "so gorgeous, so mine."

Brittany moaned, legs spreading wider as the pleasure coursed through her, building faster and stronger with each quick thrust. Santana was incredible at this. She usually favored tongue and fingers over toys, but when they were both in a friskier mood, she always proved strap-on sex could be just as passionate as it was rough. There was no question Santana was making love to her.

"Good?" Santana interrupted her thoughts, sweet and attentive.

Brittany nodded wordlessly, fingers clutching at the sheet beneath her. When Santana stopped all movement with only the head of dildo still inside, Brittany looked at her quizzically.

"Baby, what—"

Santana drove hard into her, the jolt of shock and pleasure taking Brittany by surprise. "_Oh my go_—" She threw her head back and let out a guttural moan.

Presented with her delicate neck, Santana couldn't resist the temptation. She bent over slightly, hips still thrusting, slower this time, and attached her lips to Brittany's skin. She nipped and sucked with vigor, spurred on by Brittany's panting.

After a moment, she detached her lips and looked down at Brittany. With her blonde hair wild and her face flushed, her thin lips swollen and her eyes darker, she looked very much like a mad angel. In response to her observation, Santana smirked deviously. She would make this angel scream if that was the last thing she did.

Now laying fully on her, she rested her head on her shoulder and slid her hands down Brittany's sides. As she kissed the bruise that was forming on Brittany's neck, she managed to tilt her hips up so she could cup her ass.

At this angle, the dildo slipped deeper into Brittany, causing her to cant her hips and meets Santana's fast thrusts.

"God I wish I could feel you," Santana panted heavily, "feel how wet you are, how tight and warm."

Brittany whimpered in pleasure as her nails dug into Santana's back. She was so close.

"_Yes, uh, faster_—"

Santana's movements became erratic, short and fast and just enough to have Brittany come with a scream, Santana's name on her lips and in all her thoughts. She groaned and moaned as her muscles tensed and the pleasure exploded, coursing through her at what felt like light speed.

Santana hummed against her neck, slowing her hips as she brought Brittany down. She moved her hands from her ass and rubbed her clit gently, making Brittany shiver from the small aftershocks.

Finally, Santana carefully slipped the dildo out of Brittany and moved to the side of the bed. She took the harness off and smiled when Brittany caressed her naked back lazily. After she was unstrapped, Santana lied on her side, hand supporting her head as she smiled down at the blonde.

"That was good baby... really good..." Brittany murmured.

Santana hummed in agreement and she kissed her lips, too relaxed to move any other muscle. Brittany grinned against her mouth, but quickly started dozing off. Santana knew she was always one for short naps after some particularly vigorous sex, but she herself was much too overjoyed to go to sleep just now. Besides, she never missed an opportunity to have Brittany stroke her ego.

"So? Verdict?"

Confused, Brittany peered up at Santana with a frown. When she realized what Santana meant, she chuckled. "Oh, right."

Santana bit her bottom lip, hiding her grin.

"Well," Brittany trailed off, "I think that... we definitely woke the neighbors."

"Mmm that's right."

"But..." Brittany smirked, "You are still no match for my mad skills."

Santana's mouth popped open. "Britt! Are you for real? I just made you come all over the damn thing!"

"Oh yeah, the _thing_ made me come..." Brittany hummed teasingly.

"So you're saying _I_ don't do it for you?"

Brittany laughed, then grabbed Santana's arms to pull her towards her. Santana fell with a humph on her stomach, her breasts resting on Brittany's.

"That has got to be the silliest thing you've ever said, because you, Santana Lopez," Brittany kissed her cheek, "totally do it for me. You're like... the best I've ever had."

Santana's lips curved into a shy smile. "The best?"

Brittany smiled against her cheek, fluttering her eyelashes against it. "Mh-mm," she nodded.

When Santana only smirked in response, Brittany bit her lip.

"Well, um... what about me?"

Santana feigned surprise. "Oh, you? Yeah I guess you're OK."

Brittany pouted. "Just OK?"

"Uh-huh."

Dubious, Brittany held herself up on her elbows. "Do I have to tickle this answer out of you?"

Santana's eyes widened. She shifted away from Brittany. "Tickle me? Oh um, that won't be n-necessa—"

"—Britt!"

Brittany lunged at her, wicked smile in place, tickling her stomach until Santana burst with laughter, screeching for her to stop as she wiggled in all directions. The sheets crumpled at the foot of the bed as Brittany trapped Santana, pinning her arms over her head.

"Say it," she ordered with a grin.

After she tried to move unsuccessfully, Santana finally gave up, looking at Brittany with false annoyance. "Fine you crazy woman." After a pause, her eyes softened and she dropped the charade. She smiled genuinely and lifted her head so her lips could hover in front of Brittany's. "You are, without a doubt, the best sex I've ever had."

Brittany wiggled her eyebrows happily.

Santana's eyes sparkled with adoration. "Being with you makes me the happiest woman. I'm crazy in love with you."

Brittany unpinned her arms, instead interlocking their fingers together, and kissed Santana lovingly, slipping her tongue inside her mouth. With that single kiss, Brittany knew she'd conveyed everything she felt for the gorgeous woman beneath her. Her love, desire, gratitude and eagerness for a future together. Still, she felt it couldn't hurt to express all that out loud with a simple but sincere,

"I love you, too."

* * *

**AN: **These two goobers bantering is the best thing to write; they just can't help it. All in good nature of course! I hope you didn't expect 20k of angst, I just never intended for them (or this story) to be overly angsty. They know they have their problems to deal with one step at a time, but in the end they just can't stay apart. Well anyway, I hope the wait was worth it :)


	10. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

Santana took off her coat and shoes after she closed the door of the house, her lips curving into a smile when she heard a soft hum. She walked into the living room and spotted Brittany in the kitchen, her hips swaying lightly in front of the stove.

"Hey baby," Brittany said.

Santana bit her lip and walked towards her, quickly encircling her waist from behind. "Hi," she murmured.

Without her shoes, she was a bit too short to properly nuzzle Brittany's neck with her nose, so she settled for a quick kiss on her shoulder. "You look pretty," she added.

Brittany chuckled. "My hair is dirty and my apron has splotches of food all over, how does that translate to pretty?"

Santana grinned, "Well, I happen to _love_ dirty women."

Brittany turned around into the Chef's arms, smiling amusedly. "Is that so?"

"Mhm, it sure is."

She winked before capturing Brittany's lips in a tender kiss. When she heard a small bubbling in the saucepan and tried peaking at it, Brittany abruptly pushed her away. "Oh baby, don't look."

Santana's face scrunched up in confusion. "What just happened?"

Brittany swallowed nervously. "You should take a shower, you're sweaty."

"What—I—Jeez," Santana gasped exaggeratedly, "way to spare my feelings."

"I'm sorry sweetheart," Brittany pouted. Santana knew that look on her face—it was mischievous, kooky and secretive all rolled into one. It definitely caught her attention, but... a shower did sound amazing right about now.

"Okay, well... do you wanna' join?" She asked hopefully.

Brittany shook her head, which made Santana frown. What on earth was going on?

Feeling slightly dejected, she turned around and made her way towards the stairs.

"Hey cute-butt," Brittany called after her.

Santana turned her head and couldn't help but smile when she noticed the blonde looking at her with a grin and playful eyes. "I love you," she said, and it was all it took for Santana's heart to feel warm all over again.

She nodded shyly and walked up the stairs, goofy smile in place. It had been almost four years since they got back together, and she still got those silly flutters in her stomach whenever Brittany was near. More than anything, and this was something she seldom admitted, Santana loved how domestic they were. It was simple really, but just folding clothes with her girlfri—ah, no, her _wife_—as they discussed every day matters had her feeling completely at ease and relaxed.

Her anxiety was still something she had trouble with, especially since _Adjacent_ was booming and she had to deal with a larger staff, but Santana's nerves had definitely eased since she had moved back in with Brittany. A couple months after, Brittany had suggested that Santana and her take yoga classes together. The Chef was still snapping her wrist rubber band now and then, which worried Brittany. It had taken a while but Santana eventually dumped the horrid habit. This was of course, only one of the perks of living with Brittany.

It was different the second time around, too. Living together the first time had been chaotic at best. They had rushed into it because Santana had been struggling to pay rent for her own miserable apartment, and Brittany had offered her to stay on a whim. They'd been stupidly happy at first, of course, but little by little they'd realized they had skipped over way too many steps. Their relationship had only suffered from it.

But now, now Santana was certain she had never been happier. They hadn't rushed into anything and had enjoyed their relationship day after day, knowing in their hearts it would happen again eventually. After a full year of endless dates and countless kisses, days filled with sweet texts and nights spent alternatively at each other's homes, Santana had moved back into Brittany's house for good. They had talked about it for weeks prior to that, and they both felt they couldn't wait to live together again. They knew it would be much different this time, and it had since then been three wonderful years.

Years full of affection, laughs, handholds, teasing glances, Friday night dates, gifts, movie nights, breakfasts in bed, sex, love, and, more recently, the wedding of a lifetime. It had been a small affair, but Santana could still remember how stunning Brittany had been that day.

She knew, of course, that her wife was a knockout wearing the simplest of clothes, but that day... Santana wondered how she hadn't fainted. Brittany had been wearing a gorgeous dress, fitting her slim figure like a glove. Her hair had been intricately done yet simple at the same time, falling in soft waves over her shoulders. Santana remembered it all. The way Brittany's fingers had brushed against the fabric of her dress like it'd been the most natural thing in the world. The way she had laughed and whisked away a blonde strand of hair that had fallen loose on her nose, making her scrunch it with a wide grin spread on her face. Santana also remembered the silver flower brooch clipped in her hair, its shining petals wide but small, right next to her ear and peaking from under her white veil.

She'd been a vision, and the deep yet clear blue of her eyes had sparkled with so much love that Santana had started crying tears of happiness right then. She denied it anytime someone teased her about it—Kurt and Holly being the firsts to do so—but deep down she couldn't care less what others thought. If they had known they were the reason for the wide smile on Brittany's face, they would have probably started bawling too.

They'd been married for four months now, and Santana was so full of love sometimes she feared she was in the most realistic dream of her life. Waking up next to, on top of, or underneath Brittany was always something she treasured. Her kisses still made her knees weak and her hands on her body still made her toes curl. She couldn't imagine it would ever stop.

Of course it would be a lie to say they never fought, or that Santana never slept on the couch, but they worked hard to make their relationship work. Their communication skills, though not perfect, had improved, and sex was always off the table whenever they had issues to discuss. They both remembered how orgasms had once been a shallow way to fix their problems, and how it had actually made every small issue so much worse in the long run. Of course, this wasn't to say there was no... gratifying reward once they did communicate how they felt.

Their relationship had its irritating flaws—like Santana never taking the trash out or Brittany always leaving the lights on—but at the end of the day it didn't matter much. They were in each other's arms, snuggled up beneath warm blankets and dreaming of their future together.

Santana smiled to herself as she stepped out of the shower and grabbed a towel. She felt pretty beat after today, but thankfully it was Friday which meant she had the whole weekend to replenish and laze around with her wife. Speaking of which, she wondered what Brittany was up to downstairs. Fridays were always date night, which meant they either went out or already had their clothes off by now. With a smirk, she decided she'd have to get that particular plan in motion as fast as possible. Brittany in an apron always got her going, and it had been a long day without her sweet wifey kisses.

Little did Santana know, Brittany was miles away from thinking about sex.

She had spent the day trying to make sauces that didn't make her want to gag or cry. Needless to say it was a bit of a failure. She was far from a wreck in the kitchen, but ever since Santana had moved back in, she'd started to focus more on tasting rather than cooking. It was her job after all, but she realized recently that she had completely slacked off. Her taste buds still worked marvelously, and Susan Spite was still very much _Cuisine_'s best and ever mysterious asset, but when it came down to cooking her own meals, Brittany knew she had gotten lazy.

Santana loved cooking for her, and that was all very sweet, but sometimes she wished she could make something that would have her wife moaning obnoxiously too. Not to mention, they had been talking about kids for a few weeks now, and the blonde knew Santana would be too exhausted with the restaurant, motherhood _and_ cooking every night. Brittany worked from home most of the time, so it would be much more practical for them if she knew how to make a decent lunch for their kid while Santana was at _Adjacent_. She doubted their little angel would appreciate tuna macaroni every day.

Inevitably, thinking about children again had Brittany smiling over the sauce pan. Santana and her were both ready for that step and it was only a matter of time before they had a little cherub crawling around with a sticky mouth and fingers covered in jam. She knew Santana would want to experiment with all sorts of kid-friendly meals and deserts on weekends, and that would most likely lead to their child having chipmunk cheeks and pudgy little hands. Brittany thought that was adorable, but Santana was perturbed that she would possibly be the cause of him or her being a bit too chubby. Perhaps she'd have to tame down her cooking urges.

Brittany doubted that would happen though. Ever since _Cuisine_ had published Brittany's review and dedicated a whole page to _Adjacent_, praising its menu and calling Santana an up-and-comer to look out for (a title she had definitely surpassed since then), Santana cooked more than ever before. Their kitchen was a space for experiments and new creative recipes, and Brittany had given up on trying to clean it, especially since she herself was using it so much recently.

Having two food lovers in the house was definitely a treat, quite literally, but could also be a bit overwhelming. Even when Santana was at the restaurant for long hours every day, she still came back home with her hands yearning to grab a pan and open the fridge. The number of times she overdid herself with five course meals was definitely impressive.

Brittany had to hit the gym twice as more than usual to stay in shape, though she was pretty sure Santana wouldn't be against her gaining a few pounds. Well, if feeding her the richest lemon meringues and chocolate mousses in bed was anything to go by.

"Mhm, smells good."

Brittany turned around and smiled softly when Santana came down the stairs, wearing a tank top and her favorite black short shorts. Her wet hair was combed back and Brittany could smell her shampoo from here.

"Feel better?"

"Yeah, I washed all the _sweat_ off," Santana playfully said.

She walked towards Brittany and managed to look down at the sauce pan. Brittany bit her lip.

"Aw baby, you should have told me you wanted to make Caruso sauce, I'd have grabbed fresh onions from the restaurant."

Brittany blinked. "My onions were fresh."

Santana looked at her with a weird frown and chuckled, "Okay... I was just offering."

The blonde sighed, "I wanted to make this on my own."

She took the wooden spoon out and let Santana scoot closer. "What do you think?"

Santana was tempted to dip her finger into the sauce, but refrained when she noticed the color of the ham. "Did you use prosciutto?"

"Yeah, it makes it nice and salty."

"Huh."

"What?" Brittany frowned.

Santana shrugged. "Oh I don't know, it's just weird to use Italian ham for this sauce."

"What? Why? It's an Italian sauce."

"Uruguayan actually," Santana corrected with a small smile.

"No," Brittany insisted, but deflated a few seconds later. "Well, yes it is," she admitted begrudgingly, "but it follows traditional Italian cuisine."

"Well yeah, but—"

"Hmph, why don't you make your own sauce for tomorrow's meal, and let me do this one on my own for once?"

Santana quirked an eyebrow. "Okay first of all, I was just offering my opinion. Second of all, you," she smirked, "are being incredibly childish."

"Am not!"

"Are too," Santana chuckled. She settled her hands on Brittany's hips, pulling her gently towards her. "Don't be like this sweetheart. Can I taste it?"

"No," Brittany huffed, crossing her arms, "you'll want it to be _perfect_, and you don't think I can achieve that."

Santana gasped exaggeratedly. "Why Mrs Pierce-Lopez, you are being _very_ stubborn tonight."

Brittany pouted. She hated when Santana pulled the Mrs card on her. And by hated, she meant loved. Her stomach fluttered and her heart never failed to skip a beat.

"Fine," she conceded, "you can taste."

Santana smiled triumphantly before she gave Brittany a quick kiss. She then dipped a spoon into the pan and sipped on it carefully, knowing it was still pretty hot. After a beat, she moaned.

"Is it really that good?" The blonde asked surprisingly. Sauces had never been her forte. In fact, she knew she was pretty damn horrible at making them, but that wasn't for lack of trying.

Santana smiled but said nothing.

"No?" Brittany frowned.

Seeing the disappointment on her wife's face, Santana couldn't help but step closer to her and kiss her once again, this time more sweetly. "It's really good baby," she said.

Brittany pouted. "But?"

"But..." Santana chuckled, "it's... well it's missing something."

"What? That's impossible," Brittany turned around, looking down at the recipe. "I used everything, the cream, the onions, I even made sure to wash the mushrooms twice before I—"

"Baby," Santana laughed. "It's not in the recipe."

Brittany frowned. "Then what is it?"

"It's a secret."

"...You can't be serious."

Santana bit her lip almost shyly. She looked down at the saucepan. "Well um... let's say it's a spice."

"That's it?" Brittany asked, her curiosity piqued.

"That's it."

"So it's just one spice short?"

"From perfect? Maybe."

"But... what is it? The spice?"

"You're the one with the golden palate baby, you tell me."

Brittany pouted, "I'm too lazy to go through hundreds of spices. You're the cook,_ you_ tell me."

Santana smirked, backing away from her wife. "Nu-uh, a Chef _never_ reveals their secret ingredient."

Brittany gasped. "But I'm your wife!"

"That you are..." Santana swooned, "My crazy-adorable wife."

The blonde arched an eyebrow. "Adorable? Was I adorable when I fucked you from behind yesterday?"

Santana almost choked. "Britt!"

Brittany smirked, liking how fast she could get the upper hand. She turned the burner off and backed Santana against the counter near the fridge. "Well?" She reiterated.

The chef swallowed. "W-well what?"

"The spice, Santana, what's the spice I need?"

"Oh um, I don't know..." Santana laughed nervously, eyes flickering from Brittany's mischievous eyes to her lips. "I can't remember."

Brittany chuckled, and Santana felt her warm breath on her face. If she could just...

"Honey, are you lying to me?"

The chef widened her eyes. "I would never!" She blinked. "Well... yes I am."

"Hmm. I guess I'll have to get it out of you some other way..."

Before she could even open her mouth, Santana felt Brittany lift her up. Like an automatism, she circled her waist with her legs, and held on to Brittany's neck. With a gorgeous view of her wife's cleavage, Brittany couldn't help but smirk. This was a wicked game she was about to play, and Santana knew it. If Brittany worked her up long enough, she'd be absolute putty in her hands and blurt out anything her wife wanted to know. "Britt, that's not fair!"

But Brittany payed her no mind, smiling deviously as she walked her wife up the stairs and into their bedroom. It didn't take too long, of course, for Santana to moan out the name of her secret spice. In fact, Brittany was still pumping her fingers into her when she did, and if it weren't for her wife's delighted squee, Santana wouldn't even have realized what she'd said.

It was only after she came hard, and Brittany was kissing up and down her neck with a smile on her lips, that she realized, still quite high, that no cream in the world could ever be more whipped than she was. After Brittany sweetly murmured how much she loved her though, Santana figured she didn't mind at all.

_The end._

* * *

**AN: Thanks everybody for reading and reviewing, it's been a pleasure writing this fic :) I'm already working on a new one that I hope you'll enjoy as well. **

**For those interested, I just created a twitter account: platytonic. It's brand new so there is pretty much nothing on there yet, but I figured it'd be more practical if you have any questions :)**


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